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Heron Clan Reading August 9,2021
They Picnicked in Bed
They picnicked in bed.
You know they couldn't leave,
The floor was too covered
With all of their clothes.
They would slip, they would fall
Create all kinds of havoc,
If even, if ever, they even would ever,
Ever, dare to even leave their bed.
So they stayed,
and they picnicked
On the hollow of his neck,
The soft curve of her shoulder.
The kisses tasted savory
of uneaten chocolate,
the skin burned red
from unbottled wine,
They never touched nourishment,
But picnicked indeed,
The smell of his heat,
the perfume of her rose
Met in a mixture
They ate with a spoon.
Are you hungry my dear?
I made you a sandwich.
But it falls uneaten
to the top of the pile
Of tossed away clothing
In mounds on the ground.
They dress each day
without leaving the bed
And undress all the rest
in the mind of the other.
The only food they devour
Are the nibbles they shared
From eaches own flesh,
The hollow of his neck
The curve of her shoulder,
Until one day
in the middle of the week,
all that they found
Was a very large spoon
And cast away clothes
In mounds
On the ground.
The Park
Centered within,
the center of the park,
The airplanes fly overhead,
Sirens churn on neighboring streets,
Visitors chat in strides.
The bird's cadence and shouts
echo through the valley park.
He whistles deep and long,
A clear reverberation
Amongst the pines, ponds, and people.
Who are you-who are you-who are you?
Leave from under my tree.
But it’s my happy spot,
I don’t want to leave
Somewhere in Italy
The landscape of Sicily rocks on uneven wheels. She reaches down into her bag, pulls the folded sheet of ink stained stationary out, the kind of note paper you find tucked in drawers of real wooden hotel furniture. Was it at the salt baths in Budapest? Romainia? The hotel's name is gone from the top, doodled over and smeared. She unfolds, one by one, the crimped pulp fiber, unfurling to a flag the sheet of her desires.
Cross it off, he told her, When you finish a task. Cross it off, and he jammed her head, slat splat onto the notepad of stationary.
Her memories fan up at her in a rush and a gasp, and she crosses his name off her list. Done.
