I'm making jam at 8:30 in the morning,
a humid, rainy morning.
I wonder if this isn't Vermont,
and instead, everyone's been fooling me;
I must be in Florida.
I look over my shoulder and
see a hummingbird drinking from that fake red flower we put up
and worry if the fox is near the chickens,
who cluck blissfully in their pen.
I wonder if next year I'll be New York City,
grabbing coffee in a crowded bakery with steamy windows.
Or taking a stroll around the quiet streets of Santa Barbara,
my hair getting lighter the longer I stay in the sun.
Or watching the leaves slowly turn gold,
as I take a bus into Boston for an escape of theater and gardens.
Or maybe I'll be in Colorado,
skiing...which I haven't done in years.
I could be anywhere.
It's an exciting time to be alive, isn't it?
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Icestorm
Aug 09, 2018
This is one of the things I like most about poetry; you can be in one place and then take the reader anywhere you want. Which is exactly what you do here. The imagery you create to travel your readers all around the world is perfect. And this piece in general is a nice escape, in a way. Your closing- "an exciting time to be alive"- made me smile. What with politics and everything, it's sometimes hard to think of the world as a place full of opportunity and excitement. So thank you for this reminder to look on the bright side. Well done :)