Satellite

He used to sit on the porch with her

drinking coffee, watching the mountains sleep

and listening to stars orbit the moon.

That was Oregon in July; the sun set late.

 

At nine, they were friends.

At fifteen, they were more.

But sixteen came

with two thousand miles of foreign ground.

Up north, they know what it means for him

to walk a mile through knee-deep snow

just to see her.

 

Down south, there are no autumns

only whispers: cool nights and sudden rains

before dry winter.

 

Until it always feels like October,

full of orange veins and cold mornings.

The wind always hints of snow, but the skies

are clear

blue and wind-streaked,

while the children play in old leaves.

 

___________________

Back to Poetry

Back to Writing

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s