Poetry by Holaday Mason

L.A. Drive 2: Deluge

Someone opens an umbrella too late—
a black rose in a mirror.

Berries of water on bare branches
ripple quarter notes, like glass

on glass. Today is the winter
solstice and the moon

is full and lost in clouds and the sky is full

of confetti birds, the popping strings of a distant guitar—

I catch the eyes of strangers as I drive by.

We search as if we know each other
but can no longer tell.

Huge yellow fig leaves fall between

the barren hedges,
the wheels of traffic.

A man stands in his garden hands caked with mud.

Bits of gold and green yarn fly from the car

just ahead, the flat face of a child
pressed at the glass watches them swirl away.

This is what becomes of us

one afternoon. The sidewalks are wavering fields.

Planes land or rise up into
the sleek fabric of the rain. Upstairs beyond

the old geometry of tree limbs, a woman

leans toward her mirror, outlines her eyes—

Copyright Holaday Mason
from TOWARDS THE FOREST
by New Rivers Press/University of Minnesota
fall 2007

Bio
Holaday Mason's manuscript "Towards the Forest" will be published in the fall of 07 by New Rivers Press & her second book, "Dissolve" was a finalist for the 2005 Autumn House Press prize and a semi finalist for
both The Backwater Press & The Tupelo Press awards. Pushcart nominee, she is the author of two chapbooks “ Light Spilling From Its Own Cup” (Inevitable Press,1999) and “Interlude” (Far Star Fire Press, 2001).