There is a woman sitting
in front of me
her hair blurred with sienna
smudged colors outside
it is raining and her face
the shape of honeycomb
transparent and filled with landscapes
flutters about the room
knocking into windows
kicking over the China,
which had been set out so nicely
on the counter today
and now the cupboards rattle
and phones ring off the hook
the bats outside are clambering
at the door and this woman
who bleeds into the rain,
whose imageless face fills
the room and wreaks havoc
turns her gaze. Her neck pivots
and she is facing me,
the glass panes shatter, bats
come flying inside and the wind
pushes the water into the room-
she sets her mug on the metal table
and her face falls back to her,
though it is still full of nothing
but untimely regret she stands
and walks past me, drapes a sash,
a colorless ethereal veil, and ascends
effortlessly above the battered buildings,
above the rain.
***
Maya Scimeca is an artist who lives and practices in Honolulu. She recently graduated from University of Hawaii at Manoa with a Bachelors in English, a Minor in Art, and a certificate in Ethnic Studies. When she is not writing, she paints portraits of people, eats delicious food, skinny dips on the white sand beaches, and delves into her passion of spying.
