For tonight, let’s forget those cellophane squares

jammed shamefully between the slats of the rattling air conditioner

sweetening the air with spearmint and horehound—


the kind of candies old men keep tucked

along the crease of monikered kerchiefs

and press into my palms as payment


for copies, or a smile, or the chance to brush by me

in the file room with their starched blue coats

scraping the rayon of my dress.

For tonight, let’s pretend this fluttering is the wings

of a thousand moths hanging here to taste dust

from the slats of the broken window unit,


not tokens of a currency in sweets

I have carried out since childhood.


Once, you accused me of building my own Point de Artes

along our bedroom wall. This was before we knew


the weight of too many gestures could

bring the footbridge down.


Currently a PhD student in poetry at the University of Tennessee, Rosemary holds an MFA in creative writing from Warren Wilson College. Her poems have been published in Hunger Mountain, and have been featured on WDVX’s Tennessee Shines. She also serves as a poetry editor for Grist journal.