Flying: A Villanelle

It’s midsummer night, and she thinks she can fly.

Leaning on the rail, watching the street below,

Christ, she says, now they just build buildings so high.

                   

I wonder if I jumped. Do you think I’d die?

We grin drunken grins and I say I don’t know.

It’s midsummer night, and she thinks she can fly.

 

Off with her shoes, off with her cares, and then I

watch her stand on the edge, shaking, and breathe, Whoa.

Christ, she says, now they just build buildings so high.

 

She runs her fingers through the dark of the sky,
Brushing stars and dreams, her pretty face aglow.

It’s midsummer night, and she thinks she can fly.

 

She wavers, eyes wide, and I hear myself cry,

Get down, get down, for God’s sake, please, just don’t go.

Christ, she says, now they just build buildings so high.

 

Let me try, she says, and I’ll never know why

She leapt, grasping at the stars, when I’d said no.

It’s midsummer night, and she thinks she can fly.

Christ, she says, now they just build buildings so high.

Author's Note

First real poem I've ever written, using the villanelle structure. Any constructive criticism would be appreciated.

Reviews

[Mark]

yayyyy Trix