While it is Sunday here in Brisbane, the lights of Friday night are still rattling in my head and sparking from my eyes. This week Ashley, Cindy and I riff on marbles, childhood, distance and Fourth of July picnics. So, what did you wrap your mind around this Friday night?
Every year it’s the same story: winter approaches
and I empty myself of names. I empty my wallet
my shoes. I walk down to the lake and leave it
all behind. Moonlight through pines turns the water
to milk, something I have never lost my passion for.
In this miraculous hour, wind bends with the voice
of my mother. Childhood stirs. In the distance
there is a light and people are waiting. Every sound
is merged into a distant humming. I turn and sing
what’s left of the boy to sleep.
Because my sleeves are damp at the wrist
I ease each button through a tightly stitched slit and
consider the feasibility of wearing
a backless dress to a picnic where there will be
too many mosquitos and too much distance
from that Fourth of July we traced stars
with sparklers cooler than our touching hands