Wednesday, July 4, 2018

A Southern Spring (Day 532)

we were fond of lazing 
in the simmering breath 
  of a southern spring’s long tail   
floating   drifting 
  in slow spirals   then jumping 
from sleep  
  flawless   piscine   

returning baubles   the kind 
that caress women   the kind
  who—chests ornamented—
  gather over lunch
  and later   laugh at each other   

surprising baubles   completely 
lacking in imperfections   
  like those women
  like cherries   
nestled among their pointed 
droplets of foliage

hanging from the endless rows 
of trees   the kind 
  we used to see 
  from the rear window 
of the Rambler station wagon 
on long trips 
through featureless farmland

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

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