Poetry | Journal

Listening to the New England peepers and frogs
scatting an autumn farewell to the heat,
the neighbor’s kitchen lights break through the fence
and I can see shadows around my ankles
as I dance to their jazzy singing.
The sun has gone down, and the commuter rail
skims through the breeze one last time.
My lips are twirling.
Humming along to the flutter of a heart so warm
grateful and graceful intertwined as one,
you’d think I know what I’m doing.
Like swing steps demonstrated on wood floors
with Riesling in hand I’m cutting through
crunchy shrubs and downed oak leaves
as if my partner were more than a day dream.
The whole concept the same, really.

I like to think there’s an exception to every rule.
Maybe that’s just natural young rebellion
but everything we set in stone
seems only to be as strong
as the ocean tides wearing off the edges.
And right now,
I feel polished.
Shake off my sand and toss me ‘cross the lake again, run your hands
over all of my notches and find that perfect snap.
Like old friends skinny dipping
drop bare the hesitation
and make honest these last moments.
Let the ripples in my wake match the vibrations in your chest
and join me out here in the water
for one last dance.