Nissa Holtkamp

Storybook yellow flowers litter the
Grass, sky above cloudy, bright, overcast.

Dandelions aloof and scattered, look
Away and whisper mischance, then fall mute.

Something makes its way towards me, as I fight
My way to you. Restless and waiting, the

City hardhearted, I’ll never get through.
Storybook yellow canary sings, “Your

Fantasies are healthy. Your obsessions
Are real. Mercy to gray and an

Absent color wheel. The visions may seem
Fantastic - prophecy, forecasts and slant.

Be mild when the prediction is matched, when
they pull you aside and say, ‘Nothing is

Chance. He worries, attached.’ ” April’s near over
And summer pulls me in, she says such sweet

Inviting things, but her words are bare and
Thin. There must be something to this, something

More than just a dream. Something in my hands
That coos instead of kicks and screams. But he

Paints an empty house, and mows a muddy
Lawn, slowly dying, days humdrum and long.

And me with my storybook yellow hair
On a park bench, drinking a can of beer.