church hill

Here is a recent piece that went through a lot of revision.
I wanted to communicate in concrete images and also create a shift in speed towards the end of the poem. 

Parked at the top of the hill in a copse of square 

brick houses under nightfall, we exit the car and 

walk ten feet to where the hill dips low, street 

sinking beneath us.

I’ve had four drinks and I’m giddy – maybe more 

endorphins than ethanol. I try to keep from skipping and 

losing my balance while you adjust my camera, holding your 

phone with the off hand for extra light. 

I’ve been looking at albums from the sixties lately – my 

grandfathers with their giant photobox cameras, posing their 

wives in sundresses and S-curve hair at every tourist stop 

for future slideshows.

It’s not expectation, just a moment of seeing photos inside-out.

She makes awkward faces beautiful. He puts the warmth in her eyes.

Punchdrunk –– I feel like falling off the earth.

I prop one leg behind me. Face you and the camera.

Let it out. Break a smile. The world’s on fire.

City lights envelop me.

We shine brighter.