Yellow Sweater

Ari,

I slept with my window open last night. 
I shivered under the thick yellow covers. 

Hard starlight and
the wet dregs of dirt, 
of everything; 
an over zealous tea blender’s
inebriated laugh. 

Culture is collective accomplishments made within the confines of laws and traditions. These rules are essential, without them we would have no frame for interpretation.

I grew up in the worlds of Narnia, Middle Earth, Hogwarts, and Prydain. I knew the mythologies of these imaginary universes better than those of my own reality.

I have always loved the smell of hard-won warmth: dusty blankets, savory stew, all the various fragrances that can be distilled in a pot of boiling water.

I found a pamphlet of thick cream paper
on a dusty undershelf of the poetry aisle. 

Like dried out flowers,
the words used to be wet. 

I read each word twice, 
waiting for them to bloom.