Day 15: One Month of Magic
This poem popped up in my inbox this am. Perfect timing because it fits the prompt.
https://www.rattle.com/where-does-a-person-with-aphantasia-dreamed-of-going-by-dick-westheimer/
Here's my response, a rough sonnet:
Even In Summer
I watch ribbons of fire on my commute
home, sunset wide beyond the ridge
of redwood hills. Everything burns. One foot
curls its toes. One hand tingles. My fridge
waits, a cave emptied by overtime, and mold
teases from corners of my shower. Scattered
fragments of unwritten things. I hold
on—here, the curve of clouds is all that matters—
and for a moment I wish were still
at work, with a few stops left to deliver
after my last break. There, atop a hill
near Bear Gulch Road, I’d savor each sliver
of now: beyond my aching hands, muscles,
and mind, the sky and ocean tussle.
This poem popped up in my inbox this am. Perfect timing because it fits the prompt.
https://www.rattle.com/where-does-a-person-with-aphantasia-dreamed-of-going-by-dick-westheimer/
Here's my response, a rough sonnet:
Even In Summer
I watch ribbons of fire on my commute
home, sunset wide beyond the ridge
of redwood hills. Everything burns. One foot
curls its toes. One hand tingles. My fridge
waits, a cave emptied by overtime, and mold
teases from corners of my shower. Scattered
fragments of unwritten things. I hold
on—here, the curve of clouds is all that matters—
and for a moment I wish were still
at work, with a few stops left to deliver
after my last break. There, atop a hill
near Bear Gulch Road, I’d savor each sliver
of now: beyond my aching hands, muscles,
and mind, the sky and ocean tussle.