Strawberries dangle and drape over the borders of the plastic red pot, where the buzzing birds visit.
my cat broke the neck of one of your brethren,
how did you expect them to feel?
I taste pennies as I bury the tiny winged creature,
in less than 6 inches of dirt.
Memory framed by water that rarely bucks and curls, like it does in the largest reservoirs.
Dogwood begins to collect in the wet spaces across my eyes. The skin on the back of my face feels fuzzy.
I remember a sunlight dirt road, guarded majestically, by two curly haired lap dogs. My father offended by the scenery rushed their patch of sun, screeching to a halt just as my cries turned to sobs.
The taste of fruity hops, and incense-like tobacco smoke curled around your porch marks the hot time of the year. When I can tell secrets in the dark and not catch a chill.
O