Published by Sarah Uzunlar, ProMosaik Poetry Crush 1999 - Peter Mason The good lilac just beyond the house hangs in bloom like a lace dress. With no one home, I gather my young body from the closet, smell every floral and vased death, fit loose my sister’s robin’s egg skirt around my waist. Quiet, in her unlit room, I go tenderly to the mirror, my bare collarbone a trickled pond of redbirds that will ribbon unsoftly with time— but here, now, I am seven, and love so deeply a boy in second grade, I need to be pretty in the dark.