MADELEINE FRENCH

YOUR HEART, ACROSS PROSPECT PARK

Pondering
blush-orange clouds
crackled over Sarasota Bay,
Maybe
I met six-thirty
from the wrong side.
In this dreamlight, I see you

Tramping
your sidewalk’s crusted slush
in Brooklyn,
Maybe
you’ve just set off
(chin tucked,
black hood bobbing)

Bearing
your battered heart
across Prospect Park.
Maybe
it’s a matter of timing
that’s all—right now, it’s
neither wrong, nor right

Crossing
Seventh, wrinkling your nose
at exhaust fumes
Maybe
you’ll lift your eyes
when my rosy clouds paint
your rooftops

Living
a movie, as a new dawn
slaps your cheek:
“Snap out of it!”
Maybe
you’ll see it’s day breaking,
flushed and undone

Not
your heart.

__________

MADELEINE FRENCH TUMBLED INTO LOVE WITH BOOKS AS A YOUNG GIRL, AND NEVER LOOKED BACK. HER WORK HAS APPEARED OR IS FORTHCOMING IN POETICA REVIEW, HIDDEN PEAK PRESS, WORDS & WHISPERS, PADDLER PRESS, WEST TRADE REVIEW, THE MADRIGAL, AND ELSEWHERE. SHE LIVES WITH HER HUSBAND IN FLORIDA AND VIRGINIA.