Wednesday, June 23, 2021

Hands calloused from years of
rubbing stars on the washboard.
Under the beating moonlight,
I set fire to the tattered calico dress.
Tasting freedom among the flames.
Snapping my fingers
to the pulse of the crackling tune.
Rum dripping from my fingertips,
a sonnet erupts in the pit of the 
hearth and my soul.
Pinpricks and bee stings
tumbling from the trapeze 
of my mind.
Dawn and prairies stay.
All that remains are daydreams,
spread out for me to riffle through. 
I pick the one where the clouds
looked like ice cream cones.
I laid on the lawn and lifted my finger
toward the honeybees. 
The church bell chimed
and all that remained was smoke. 

This piece was published in Volume 2, Issue 2 of Flora Fiction Magazine. 

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