Keara

Her name is keara.
she sings.
she sings with a little foam cup.
she sings for love.
she sings for $2.40.

we are autumn, she croons,
as she smudges my
make up with
nimble thumbs,
intelligent and sweet,
as precocious, golden curls.

we giggle
we shiver
it's cold
in december.

it's cold in this parking lot.

"jeepers!"

she knows franz liszt
and preaches
vedic astrology.
vrishchika and simha.
she tries to teach me to sing.

doe, a deer, a female deer,
in the dark, and snow, mangled here.

the fluorescent market
insults my corneas.
her eyes remain bright.

now, she emits dopamine.

i've stuck my fingers into electrical sockets.
i've stood on exposed wires.
i've felt the surge of something greater.
i've known what can't be seen.

she has a young face
a young laugh
a young smile
though her eyes twinkle with
something less.

my heart shudders.

her name is keara.