WHISTLING SHADE |
by Alixa Doom
Spring sun through windows: young man at the entrance lifts hands into handcuffs. Courtyard sun warms up patient's painting on brick wall: tulips all colors. Sun lays bars of gold across the gray tile floors; the inmates walk through. Thrilled to be leaving he sweeps through the library, collects hugs from friends. Five years here over, arms full with two bags he waits for the door's buzzer. Men with heavy feet file out of the spring woods, the same trail as deer. Tornado drill sounds: locked men line up in hallways, laugh of a wild wind. Courtyard sky through wire; blue crocus in shadow cells cast by web of fence. Misty May morning, old gravestones and bee boxes— how sweet the honey! I snip courtyard rose; all day patients at my desk— commotion of rose. Sun turns them silver: seeds dropping in parachutes through blades of wire fence. High above yard wire: wild swan migration flowing all the way to town.