POETRY

The Long Drive Home

A prose poem

Photo by Mariam Soliman on Unsplash

A little reggae and hip sway with the dishes tonight and I sing as the water, a steady warm stream, trickles between my knuckles. I look out the window, at nothing really. It’s all too altogether lovely to absorb. Sometimes I stand beneath the white oaks and stare at the patches of sky that blink between the leaves, and I breathe, and I breathe, deeply, the scent of air…