By Estrella Taño Golingay (Poetry)

We skip the puddles,
walk briskly the still lighted streets,
past the landmarks and school edifice
jogging memories of my youth,
flitting, fretting round
the arch growing noses
the road breeding ears
We keep away from what they whisper
but they climb over the walls
to catch up with us.
Stunned.
We pretend it’s just
an ordinary affair and hurry
back to the archetypes
my climbing up and down
the view deck like scaling
life’s ladder, in sync
with the early morning hues:
muted tales lacing the sleek walls
of the town hall and the early
newscast made of brewed coffee,
zooming in steadfast sprinters
on fish-eyed chronicles
Here against the light, my significant other
and I bend the haze and carve the air
smoke grows on our limbs,
wings on our heels.