Hold fast to me, the birds have left the trees
and night is falling: I’ve run as fast
as a doe in November, I’m fasting,
nothing but the wafer of my own gray soul
as passed my lips. Your watch is fast.
Mine is stuck fast at midnight, and noon,
she led the fast life of a woman
with a single change of clothes, riding fast
on a chrome roaring Harley trying to die. She
spun her wheels, then the road rose up to
meet her furious and fast, that screech,
then the burning torn wires and the pole
lying in the road. All lanes blocked, no fast lane
but for the siren angry trucks and the oil
spilling fast and loose. Fast life slow pouring
from doeskin chaps and a yellow braid. Hungry
birds circle the highway. Twilight spokes
spin fast as a wheel-of-fortune. Her eyes closed fast.
Pediatrician Kelley White worked in inner city Philadelphia and now works in rural New Hampshire. Her poems have appeared in journals including Exquisite Corpse, Rattle and JAMA. Her most recent books are TOXIC ENVIRONMENT (Boston Poet Press) and TWO BIRDS IN FLAME (Beech River Books.) She received a 2008 Pennsylvania Council on the Arts grant.
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