June snuck up on me again. May always seems to disappear so quietly and quickly, and before I know it the summer months are looming, heat-filled and dusty. This morning, between more ironing and washing all of our dog Axel's bedding, I read some of my observational poetry from the past few years.
I don't think he's even old enough to talk to me-
let alone the fish-
but he seems to be doing just big-eyed fine.
I only wish his mother would take him
off (unhooked) that mental leash.
He doesn't need to know the color wheel,
so much as to draw blue penguins on the walls.
I am dreaming of pear tart
thick butter crust
and almond ricotta filling-
the kind you can eat four pieces of,
lick your fingers one at a time,
I am dreaming of sunshine,
hot on my bare back,
my skin heating like granite by a mountain lake.
Not asleep, utterly unconscious.
Ssssh, don't interrupt this
My mother made buttery biscuits last night to go with soup, the kind you have to freeze the butter and fold the dough over and over like puff-pastry, and there was (1) left for me for breakfast, to be eaten with iced tea and strawberries.