First Walk

The first day we drove down to Syracuse

to put an hour between us and everyone

else and talk about what the hell was

happening. Walked in a park, pulled

out the reasons we shouldn’t and it

was something you said, there was

a tree behind you, it was spring and

in the branches I saw all there was

to see, seconds only before it faded.


We stood on a sidewalk and looked

at each other; stepped in. A car full

of college kids took the corner too fast

and they yelled out the window, get

a hotel, and we saw it would be worse

back home where we were a scandal

yet to spring. But we had been away

in ourselves where some psychotic

sayer was saying it could be worth it.

Laurinda Lind

Laurinda Lind lives within swimming distance of Lake Ontario (assuming a slog through connecting swamps and creeks). Some poetry publications/acceptances have been in Chautauqua, Comstock Review, The Cortland Review, Main Street Rag, Off the Coast, and Paterson Literary Review.