Here’s a poem I wrote three or four years ago. I have been tinkering with it off and on ever since. The poem is about a moment years ago when I was taking out the trash and was surprised by the promiscuous beauty of my neighbor’s pear tree illuminated from behind by a street light. The light poured through the soft, white flowers. She seemed very much like an angel, alive and glorious, glowing from within with a pure but sensuous light.
I am explaining too much. I am thinking I may submit this to a local literary arts magazine. I am interested in comments, feedback, semi-rotten tomatoes.
In other words, please pimp this poem.
The girl next door stands ready at the gate.
Her long, lithe limbs linger. She beckons me
with burgeoning blooms, her open invitation hands.
She is bathed in streetlight – radiant, clean, gleaming
from the inside with a promise. No one is awake.
The night protects us, our anonymous secret.
I have an idea, I tell her.
I know you do, she says. She always knows
exactly what to say.