Nearly midnight, late July. We walk to
the bodega through cobwebs we can’t see,
even by moonlight. You do not take my
hand, but you are holding it just the same –
even as you open the door, move through
the shelves overfull with what we won’t eat.
“What do you want?” I already have it.
I look into your eyes and see the field
across from my parents’ house, where the crop
changed every other year – I see the light
that lingered on the border of myself.
They are the same color as the soil just
before the corn comes up – where everything
looks dead until, suddenly, it isn’t.
Right Time by Jessie Epstein | Sandalwood Vanilla Poetry Reed Diffuser
$15.00Price
Jessie Epstein is a writer and filmmaker. You can read more about her work at www.jessiegepstein.com.
