HAPPINESS

by Rose Saint-Clair

I stand at the station with sunflowers—waiting for the snake
to whistle along the water and stop, howling or in a silent
screech slide open doors for me with you shadowed in window
light, but there is only water surrounding. The water looks
sunflower-deep only I don’t test this, fearing mistake—missing
the train in the wrongness of distracting curiosity. I stay still
in the dream of your dream where you sat at this lone station,
the snake train ribboning you to the sky like the kite father
flew for you when the rare sun was bright and high and all was
beautifully blue. Yellow kite ribbon tailing our bed that night
told me you were going, and I wept beside you, sleeping under
thin white sheets of summer stale.

Rose Saint-Clair is graduating Middlebury College with a B.A. in English. She is grateful for the support received while interning at the New England Review, from the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference, and her mom, Regina. She lives on a small farm in Virginia’s Shenandoah region with her family.