M. Hank

There is a different version of me that leaks out,

dripping ink on these pages,

hollow and raw,

saying all my thoughts.

A flow of words that may have never left my head,

It's 9 o'clock on a Saturday- 9:00 AM, that is, when Mom made lemonade for the annual summer party at our house. Fresh-squeezed lemonade. It is sitting in a cooler on the small table in the tiny house in our backyard. 

We need more joy in this world, 

we need less of this depressing sense of life, 

when everything around us is so beautiful. 

But we only look through a gray lens to see it. 

her voice sounded heavy to her, filled

with the unnamed emotion

everyone had told her to expect. except

she hadn't. she'd rolled

her eyes at the shiny pamphlets and blog posts

Humid air drifts through the streets

Carrying the scent of damp leaves

The birds sing songs of joy 

While gathering food for their young

Flowers begin to sprout among the grass and moss

A grandmother bakes

A batch of warm cookies

Peppered with butterscotch chips,

A chocolate kiss pressed in the center,

For her grandchildren