by Taryn Ricciardelli, 15, Wilmington, North Carolina
The white roses that I expect
stay in my mind, lingering.
I beat on the table with my spoon
And watch as passersby amble
along my window. Zippering
up the young girl's jacket, a mother worries over her tire, punctured.
The bitter taste of coffee still lingers
and as I get up to wash my bowl and spoon
I think of us on the beach, ambling.
The day is so warm I pull the zipper
to my parka. Pop! The girl's balloon has punctured.
I watch as her face screws into a frown. Who do I expect?
My dream fades with the soap on the spoon
Don't you know that to amble
here slowly pains every undying moment? Zipper
the fly buzzes on television. A repairman fixes the puncture.
The woman doesn't know what to expect...
will the air in her tire linger?
Rain starts to patter on my window. The ambling
passersby slowly disappear...zippering
up their hoods. My heart is punctured.
I wanted you to be here...I expected...
well, the sadness in the room lingers
like drops of water on a spoon.
Suddenly the sun starts to shine, the cars zip
by and my punctured
heart stops hurting. There is a knocking on my door. Who should I expect?
My hand stops on the doorknob, lingering.
My heart races as I spoon
all my courage into this one moment. I try to act normal as I amble to the door.
And as I look out my eyesight is punctured,
And those white roses that I expected
have turned pink and red, white and orange. I am blinded by lingering colors.
I gasp with no one to hear. I spoon
the flowers into my arms and amble
back to my living room, zippering my windbreaker.
I hope he doesn't expect me. I stand by his door lingering.
Right as he picks up his spoon I enter and amble
to his table. I unzipper my jacket and tell the tale of his healing my punctured heart.