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Stunning meadows steal our shadows. Bird beaks break like old bread. Like old words barely said. What greener grass we needed…what empty weather reports we heard and unheeded. I’m remembering a dream of a hawk and some quivering mouse. My scream filled the house. Singing jungles feed our families in old coins buried. Like the time we ate piranha and chuckled alone. Waiting for dawn to break this spell. Thirsty for underhanded devils, some sort of adventure. Hummingbirds, we hovered at a sweet opening and offered our own ruby-throated kiss. It went on like this all summer. Kite strings around our wrists and candy stuck to our bare feet. You played music for me late into the night and I rocked back and forth in sand that was slipping underneath me. Searching for beach glass and doctors’ notes. Running vandals steal our grandmas’ saddest nights alone. Spray paint their laments on new cement. Circling around like a broken dream of a hurricane. The weather came back to haunt us. My green kept tight in a fist, your pain ready to read me a story. Building bird houses kept hands busy. Old nails, stained wood. Burying the evidence taught me how to be quieter. Your mother won’t come down from the roof tonight. It’s a full moon she calls to us. Ambling shadows steal our windows, shower stones against the glass. Reminders.
