Romanticism

Held the telescope to your eye
late into the snowless night
and squinted into the cataract moon.

Oh it's that distant, as the boy who hung
the dingy white sheets and proposed
to the girl who wanted snow.

After the daylight peeled the label
off its clear blue glass and neurotically
became the night. Outside the body,

the disease was a heliotropic iris
offering its hope, as long as you stared
into the microscope.

The boy spent all day draping old linens,
and I suppose a trailer park is a kind
of snow globe, sex a sort of diamond.

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Copyright © 2011 Ashley Elizabeth Hudson All rights reserved
from The Southeast Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission