Sep 2020
my cat sleeps in the sunspot on my bed. her throat remembers the deep rumbling of content, my idea of yesterday's heaven.
my garden, filled not with zinnias, but with families and friends, reminds me so suddenly of change.
my mom and dad sit in the yard-- his hand resting casually on the arm of her chair, holding a glass of water that's sweating in the summer sun. i can see them smiling from here.
i peek out the doors and windows, camera in hand, anxious to catch every breath, every moment of this day,
just in case my mind forgets
my garden, filled not with zinnias, but with families and friends, reminds me so suddenly of change.
my mom and dad sit in the yard-- his hand resting casually on the arm of her chair, holding a glass of water that's sweating in the summer sun. i can see them smiling from here.
i peek out the doors and windows, camera in hand, anxious to catch every breath, every moment of this day,
just in case my mind forgets
this was a poem i wrote in august when i graduated. the day before i left for college, my parents hosted a socially-distanced send-off party for my twin sister and i, so this poem is about that day :)
