Globe lamp on the bedside table of a college dorm room, casting its blue-green
international light across the parade of stubbled cheeks and clean shoulders,
skiers, rowers, when that window of history after the Pill and before
AIDS was newly flung wide and hadn’t slammed shut yet, the breeze it let in soft
against everyone’s skin. If you weren’t born then, or already married and changing
diapers, don’t judge us. Envy loose curtains and starlight, maybe, the shadows
a street lamp will cast across shelves of used books. Tell your grandchildren
you were there, too, alive and safe, your waking and dreaming bathed in Santana’s
faint guitar solos echoing over the neighborhood long after midnight.
Image by Lawren
Molly Fisk is a poet, essayist, and life coach living in the Sierra foothills of Northern California. She’s won grants from the National Endowment for the Arts, the California Arts Council, and the Corporation for Public Broadcasting. Her most recent book of poems is The More Difficult Beauty (2010).