Morning draping gentle
and golden, two soft arms around me.
Kentucky heat, like a lazy dog,
and little fingers, kneading mud pies
dotted with bluebells.
Tire swings, my brothers’ scabbed knees,
hair curling up towards the sun.
Lemonade and sweet, dusty bodies washed clean,
skin still wet, sitting on the cabin porch.
Watching the sky change,
tangerine horses dancing, dragging
coal black tails behind them.
Lines traced in the soil, once smooth,
like the gaps between my teeth pulled closed.
Time, a potter’s wheel, the way it stretches and bends.
“Two ways,” Hemingway says, “Gradually, then suddenly.”
Caelan DiCosmo is a junior at Maggie L. Walker Governors School. Her work has been recognized in Scholastic Art and Writing Awards and published in The Weight Journal and The Milking Cat.