by Isabel Galupo
I claim your city as my own. All the grimy
tattooed men strutting down Bardstown Road,
the weathered brick, the family obligations, even
the misery-making pollen – it’s mine mine mine.
In the park there’s a tree with blooms like tiny
little cups. You’ve banned me from bringing home
more vintage glassware, but I have a feeling you’ll
make an exception today. This is how you are in
Louisville: elastic. Come, let us pile six to a couch,
let us picnic in the secret valley which is not a secret,
let us watch hot air balloons being birthed by the
river. This is how we are in Louisville: ecstatic.
It’s easy to be in love with life in the Spring, to be
as willing as tiny little cups which are also flowers.
Pegasus 