melody wilson / poem

Geyser

We’ve met for brunch behind a wall of glass 

that separates us from a canyon of aging 

high-rises. My friend’s husband explains

how they met: eHarmony. 

The two of them brighten a room 

dimly lit by the glow of half a dozen 

bicycles welded into a chandelier. 

She beams while I study a column 

of pigeons that erupts into sight, 

settles briefly on wires then cartwheels 

back to the sidewalk again and again. 

The bowl of kale before me is dotted 

with Blackened Spam. I lift a square, 

slide it into my mouth—thrift enhanced 

by craft. When my husband describes 

the day we met, lunch hour, quick mart, 

I nod along. Married twice as long 

as our friends, it’s hard not to add

it hasn’t been easy. The story, 

the one we tell, bores me these days, 

but look at these birds, how they gush up, 

beat the air, fall again to the ground. 

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Melody Wilson’s poems appear in Catamaran, Watershed, VerseDaily, West Trade Review, Emerson Review, Crab Creek Review, and elsewhere and her manuscript Madre Dura was a finalist for the Catamaran Prize and the Louisville Review National Poetry Prize. She holds an MFA from Pacific University. Find more of her work at melodywilson.com.