~
Day in Winter
Today I walked wet streets
strangely sheeted with pennies,
as slant light burnished coil after coil
of hair outside red-boned Macy’s,
& the wind pulled open the liquor
doors in the middle of the block.
I missed her as I crossed the blank
green language of grass,
I missed her as I slipped through iron
railings into rain’s only face,
I missed her as I hailed the bus on E st
& drifted into a shining glitch.
I lipped a Gauloises and observed
the body of smoke being born.
Then, just before this poem ended,
night appeared in my pocket,
next to the leather and the money,
& it was so hungry, so lonely.
I sheathed the sharpness of my eyes
in pity, and missed her all the more.
~
Evan Stephens
Evan Stephens has lived in Washington DC for 14 years, after attending the University of Maryland at College Park. He enjoys reading, walking, cooking, painting, writing music, watching films, and of course writing. His best friend is a small orange cat who seems remarkably indifferent to poetry.