Huddling under hoody. I wade gingerly in the cold chill to the day. Hehe. Spring, she casts a white glow illuminating everything. The shadows hide behind broomstick propped in the corner. Balance swaggers between conversations loitering on porch steps.
I drove through the dark of night once to return there. Car barreling into the dusty parking lot, I came for the soul reason to see women like me in the dance hall of the American Legion. I grew up under those sh!ngles, wrapped my thighs around the impo+en+ barrel of the stripped out tank perched by the road. I hugged the adrenaline pumping memory, watching women grind hips together right where my brother and I once twirled hand in hand to my Dad’s band playing on a Friday night. In summers it was corn on the cob caught in the corner of cheeks and Sundays were reserved for brunch with Grandma after church. And for one night, it was ordering a drink and slipping my hands around the hips of don't ask don't tell women dancing under the American Flag of the American Legion.
Eyes closed, sunlight’s breath lingers across the eye lashes and warms these listening ears receiving the moving landscape's reception.A stuttering start etched caverns in the icy canvas, not breaking, transforming ice into vibrations awakening the air with molecules singing. A hum drips in the ear of water flowing. Mother Nature never carries unnecessary baggage.