tuscan summers,
wearing paisley and plaid,
barefoot amongst the wildflowers.

i would wear my wedding gown
in the backyard,
with our babies growing up on the front porch.

we had free range
underneath northern, starry skies--
taking trips to the mountains.

my books would be stacked
against the ivy
that crawled up the walls.

slow mornings,
crawling like molasses
out of the rickety screen door.

i would give up modernity
just to melt in the snow,
growing like weeds through
the cracks of your bone marrow.