I don’t want to do anything or go anywhere except
Back to a hot blue sky morning in Texas with a yellow
Sun suit strap hanging off one shoulder,
Stirring mud pies with an old spoon
In a backyard that is full of oranges and tangerines
And grapefruit and white and pink oleanders
Pushing thickly against the fence.
I only want to go on a picnic next to a cold river
In the mountains, look at my toes on the pebbles
Through the clear water and swim
With my laughing yellow dog.
Or walk through the woods,
With another dog, and a child with her hand in mine,
Looking for a certain small white flower that was said to
Grow there, but mostly just squishing along the muddy
Path, smelling the leaves, and quietly feeling so alive.
I can’t get there from here except when I lie on the bed
In the afternoon in a quiet house just at the end of summer,
With a cat curled up on a quilt at the bottom.
And I ride with my eyes shut on an invisible pillow
Of air and memory to the only places I still want to go.
Sharon, Summer 2008