The Flavor of These Years

by on September 24, 2011 :: 0 comments

In the summer sun
on the metal surface of the spoon
your hair looked like
water spilling, pooling
in a small puddle

I can almost taste it, still

Where the smell of grass
sound of wind in thick-leaved trees
green-heavy in the sun
and others’ children
make me remember

what you were like,
so long ago—
xxxand I, too,
now aging complacently
in this warm, safe space
our sweatered shoulders,
just touching, bent
make me remember

the turn of earlier seasons
easy decisions that shaped us this way

but your hair, dripping with light,
tastes just as I remember
when I licked it first from the empty spoon

editors note:

Here’s the spoon from which we should slurp our daily love elixir; familiarity, acceptance, comfort, yes! Thanks, Genevieve! – mh

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