For
Now We Can
By Oscar S. Cisneros
Trees line the road, their naked branches match the veins
of leaves yet to sprout. The thick black earth reeks of
recent rain and is smeared upon our shoes and the hem
of your white dress. Hot breath billows in plumes through
cold damp air.
A chapel, once a school, lies shuttered. White paint
peels with age, revealing a coat of long ago red. The
wood creaks with today's footsteps. School bells and church
bells echo on the wind. A raven caws atop a couple's vine-covered
tombstone, wind and rain having worn their names away.
We kiss. We kiss because, for now, we can.
