Tracy May Adair
Pink is shy today. Creeps more carefully
than needed to peek over the horizon's table.
Blushes slightly, wavelength just at the edge
of sight. Trees, upturned arms empty,
won't accommodate such reticence. There's
no name for the discomforting color
one would think the sun had long outgrown.
The impulse: always to wait concealed.
Behind a fringe of leaves. Back of the dairy.
Through closed windows: no sound. Even a sliver
of glass uncovered by blackout shades
is enough to spy on what doesn't mind being seen.
Even, knowing that seeing changes nothing.
Tracy May Adair holds a MFA in Poetry from Warren Wilson College in Swannanoa, NC and a B. S. in Chemical Engineering from Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute. Her poems were recently published or forthcoming in Fickle Muses, Sediments Literary-Arts Journal, and Linden Avenue Literary Journal. You can read more at www.adair-author.com