And look: outside the window neon moons
Are shining, splashing slanting sea blue rays
Against the pastel walls of Sally’s room,
Against posters friends gave on past birthdays.
Sixteen! Tomorrow moves on dreamer’s lips:
Thin filament of shifting white she’ll wear...
Chili pepper hair...scent from Paris drips
On wrist, to please the stranger by the stair.
On the flaked, grey windowsill stands a bowl
Of paper flowers - bright oranges, red
Tinted whites - fragile things to which her soul
Brings the meagre garden’s rose perfumed beds.
In her translating head a car alarm
As a bird is singing. The room is warm.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem