Minding someone else’s business, eight fingers poised over the keyboard
when suddenly a mind slip
time machine rumbles awake
and the leap is swift
and the pull so great
eyelids droop
the weight of my head too much on my neck
and I am back there
On a sweet, scorching, August morning
when the day is stretched out before in all directions
but not too far, because here is the center
with the promise of everything
everything could be anything
and anything smells mostly like chlorine
and anything sounds like laughter
Sounds like splashes reaching towards the sun, falling down on me with a sparkle
I am underwater and can hear the children’s feet pounding the concrete
Don’t run!
I emerge just as someone jumps in and brings the disconnect
and I am back here
I hug myself and blink and discover I am crying because I want to remain in that sun.
Always and forever in that scorch of that Summer.
