i ask to send me a list of what
she sees from her balcony.
when it comes i think of her there
where spring has finally come
its the eve of winter here.
reading her list my mind drifts
to where she is a half world away
the first warm winds blowing in
off the mesa above the city
the madness of her red hair.
her fingers tapping the side
a cold can of escudo beer
some beat i will never hear.
as for the ten things she sees
i will keep them to myself
selfish bastard that i am.
keith pearson was born and raised in new hampshire and works at a local high school in the math department.
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