I wear the cape of shade
from the crape myrtle
with pride as I take
my fifteen minute break
from working beneath
a ninety degree sun.
The branches stretch above me
like a kindness
I didn’t earn, I can almost
Feel it rubbing my shoulders.
and for a moment
I forget the ache
in my lower back,
the sweat drying white
upon my shirt,
bills to pay,
mornings to survive.
I unfocus
and start daydreaming
about winning the lottery.
I’d buy a little house
somewhere quiet,
call my mother more,
sleep past sunrise,
learn what my own thoughts
sound like.
Yet in my dreams,
I wonder what follows,
Because money can buy shade,
but can it cool
the fires we carry?
Can it return
the people we’ve lost?
Can it convince loneliness
to pack its bags
and leave?
The whistle blows.
My break is over.
I rise from the roots
of the crape myrtle,
brush the dust,
and walk back
into the sunlight,
God,
could it save me,
or would I still be carrying
myself ?