Mike Frenkel
We No Longer See
the young girl
seated against a tree
arms wrapped
around
bent knees
looking up as yellow leaves
alight,
the young boy’s ear dipped
to the cacophony of waves
rushing to and fro,
louder and dimmer,
the young man meandering alone
on a worn path
through green woods
collar raised, hands in pockets
against a steady wind
as the sun’s rays
peek through
and illuminate the turns,
the teen seated alone on a park bench
far from her parents’
picnic blanket
picking at the spot on her face
she is certain everyone can see
and watching young lovers
walk by
holding hands
and leaning in
to whisper.
Instead, they sit
cross-legged on their beds
rattling their screens
with frantic thumbs
like Benjamin banging fists
on the church balcony window
and screaming,
“Elaine! Elaine!”
