, , , , ,

Sunset at Four Pm, could easily be the name of this night’s poem. Geez. It’s a blanketing dark, and it makes me forget, easily, how lucky we are all the rest of the year, even in the stupid spring.

I prefer the hard “g” ing “geez” to the “j” in “Jeez”. Dunno why.

This weather makes me miss my friend Kendra. She moved to Utah, and I’m sure I’ve written this before, but we had our babies in the same bathtubs and with the same midwives and we walked, first with the babes on our fronts, then on our backs, then on our backs with more babies in strollers, and it was awesome. Miss her. Wish we could go on a long walk. I wish we could go on a long walk and then wait for our HPs to get home and then make sauce for hours and hours and hours. That is exactly what I wish.

I crimped my hair today. That was a blast from the past. D1 made me. She found the iron and made me do mine, then hers. She can make me do stuff. That’s how powerful she has become. Her hair doesn’t crimp. It is just like mine. We are uncrimpable. #Poemcrastination.

Here I poem:

Sunset at Four PM

This is the light of the world through amber. It is the light of the world on its axis. This is the yellow light that teaches the lesson, of sliding down and resting, face down in the loam, face to the earth like its supposed to be, lying on the dirt like supposed to, snuggling leaves and needles like smooshing with the earth. That cool Northern dirt is a blanket. Those slopes are cheeks we race with tears, that ice we trace is like slight penmanship, and these blue-ice roads are the chances we take to practice working. Sunset at four in the afternoon causes damage in the mind, that we spend three months of sun repairing.


#missingsummer. I’m actually not sure what a hashtag means. I thought it was the pound sign. I’m pretty sure I’ve said that before, but the time runs together. I use it, the #though, and like it. Goodnight, poemies. Happy Friday!