Your imagined tattoo makes its way into my mind, and I picture you, your shirt off, the small of your back with some note of kanji, some symbol implying peace or Buddha. A dragon, maybe, was that what you said? I can’t recall any longer.
I’m stopping for mangoes by the roadside, wondering how this Iowa farm stand got its hands on such sweet dripping tropical moments.
My speakers are a bit old. So, too, is this car. The music hums through my seat, bass buzzing through muscle and spasming through capillaries. Maybe my heart will beat in time.Running across the plains, I keep looking for ocean. Sweat takes the place of salt water. I miss my mother's lilacs, but I haven't spoken with her in more than seven years. I can hardly call her now just to tell her that.
Photo by Laszlo Ilyesl
2 comments:
oh, dear one, i hope that the lilacs can nevertheless trigger a beautiful reconciling conversation between you and your mother. Austin called me yesterday, to say that he found it interesting that it has been two months to the day... and the day happens to be international forgiveness day. It is good to be forgiven.
that one is fiction...my mom and i talk weekly, if not more often :) but thank you...i didn't know you read my blog! :) you just be you and the world will be splendid...kisses for you!
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