In This Dream
by Angela Zito
I catch a good-looking black man
by the finger
he laid on my shoulder to get my attention.
A mistake--
he says--Thought you were somebody else
by your ink.
I say--I know how this city's covered
in art,
but I don't have a drop of color
in me.
I grasp his finger, his hand, his arm
examining
the garden that flowers there, ripe
with grammar
I can't decipher though I follow its reds,
blacks & blues
into the obscurity of his shirt sleeve.
I think
to hoist myself into his arms, to peel
--slowly--
the clothing from his shoulders
and ask him
will he read to me each hieroglyphic
inch of skin
over and over until his colors
bleed into me.
by the finger
he laid on my shoulder to get my attention.
A mistake--
he says--Thought you were somebody else
by your ink.
I say--I know how this city's covered
in art,
but I don't have a drop of color
in me.
I grasp his finger, his hand, his arm
examining
the garden that flowers there, ripe
with grammar
I can't decipher though I follow its reds,
blacks & blues
into the obscurity of his shirt sleeve.
I think
to hoist myself into his arms, to peel
--slowly--
the clothing from his shoulders
and ask him
will he read to me each hieroglyphic
inch of skin
over and over until his colors
bleed into me.
Angela Zito holds a BA in English with Creative Writing from Albion College in Michigan. She currently lives and works in Metro Detroit, where she humbly earns her keep as a writer-slash-waitress. Her poetry has also been published in the Spring 2010 issue of Euphony.
