Day 9: all caught up and dreaming

It hardly seems believable that it was barely a week ago that I was waking up to the sound of waves and walking off a veranda right onto the soft sand. It hasn’t taken long for the stress of work and the end-of-the-school-year crazy to set in. So…this.



Finally spring, we scribe our skins

with shapes of flowers, steal water

from birdbaths for our strange

ablutions. After this, we will not be

the same. Our fragile bones will steel

our loneliness, single socks drawn

from the dryer and reunited, our

sadness clean and shed, all of our

dry skins curled in storage to share

as stories in our old age. We will pluck

the new shoots from sun-streaked

meadows, shine scratches our throats.

Steam rises from the dew in early

morning, soaks our sleeves with mist.

Inside, a kettle sings on the stove.
It sings summer, summer, summer. 


2 thoughts on “Day 9: all caught up and dreaming

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