Light of Her White Hem

 
Light jackknifes the Beaufort, pries open the mountain filling with snow.

From the rear of the bus; from the bottom rung; from her under-brow stare—
the girl in dark glasses hunches over last night’s dream:
underwater hands shelling peas, a hinged purse, a receipt for an exemption.                    .

High school kids shuffle down the boat ramp, laughing
and pointing. Beyond earshot, the girl looks over sea that carries her,
over the land that carries her through school bells and schedule.

Halfway between decibels and disappearance, she rolls down
the window, lets loose her hair. Combs white snow
from needling firs: the world’s cold evidence.

Tangerine between her hands as one who beholds a winter lake.

Girl with the Cranberry Earring by Judy Parsons
 

Listen to Cornelia Hoogland read “Light of Her White Hem.”