p o e t r y
a Southern sun sets
two streets from where we met.
the first act i witnessed of you was speaking, smiling
to a homeless man,
you held his hands in yours.
such an Aquarius: concerned for the collective,
forever improving yourself.
your discipline admired.
and although we are in the East,
the South is present tonight…
maybe it’s the food i’m serving,
maybe it’s the summer heat,
but i walk outside and i feel it in the air––
Louisiana and South Carolina winds have sojourned to Brooklyn
and i close my eyes, inhale a past life.
i attempt to capture this mood
in the camera of my phone,
in my skin, full of stories,
on the pad of paper i write orders in…
i fear forgetting, but i remember every detail:
the porch light smiling down from the restaurant’s front door,
everything my eyes can see, filtered with film, looking like an old photograph.
across the street, the trees that dress the school, filtered with shade,
leaves full and painted a dark green
because now the sun is set to dusk
behind the tall buildings Bed-Stuy is surrounded by
so, i could see radiance of the sun
glossing the blue and purple sky
but not the sun itself––
similar to my view of you,
i wished to see all of you…
especially when your mouth found my toes, and
my fingerprints fumbled through your hair,
and our souls found each other, raw and bare
Samantha Rose is the author of two collections of poetry, most recently, L'ACQUA. Her writing has been featured in The Occulum, The Milk Thistle, ILY Mag, and more. She is also the Creatress in Chief of Pussy Magic. For more, visit sunrosedivine.com.