it’s like my grandmother’s favorite, green
sherbet after Sunday’s dinner—
(back in the day, pull in my jaw— the sweetness
even a teaspoon)—
the grass are sidewalks
and the tall brick houses’ yards and the braided highways
are made of glass.
And I stand on an ocean-mountain,
surrounded by trees above the
and they walk toward me.
Palms facing upward, “Whose daughter?”
ptt, ptt— each step.
Their eyes searched each star,
until, “Aww. Yes.”
I wanna see more. A bowl full—
the vines twist their selves,
and I’m full.
Keep the Porch Light On
Boxes and suitcases. Boxes and suitcases.
What you need?
Don’t forget to open the door
to your shelf that holds your hearts—
place one of them inside my suitcase.
So that I remember—
because now when I watch the starry skies;
I’m reminded of
sunflower seeds and how they sound in bags
and things like
the trees and their quiet.
And oh. The birds
an epiphany, I exist—
and when I return, I’ll remind them.
Christina Dixie is a dreamer, a writer, who is always in awe of a pink sky. She was a contributor for Sonku Collective, Gumbo and Soul, (Digital) Eve Poetry literary magazines–each published her poetry. She has a BA degree in English with a minor in Humanities from UCF.
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