Postcard Poem

Beanie Lowery, Staff Writer

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the porch swing rocks in anticipation,
waiting for me.
the shade is hot
and the metal chain is hotter,
i wince as i brush it with my hand.

 

i push the pain aside
with the rest of my sunburn,
making a note to find aloe inside.

a lizard blinks up at me,
eyes bugging out as if
to commiserate about the heat.
i wave at it,
and it scurries off,
leaping into the sand near the pool.

half of me wonders
why i am still out in this heat,
the other half
too asleep to notice.

the swing rocks gently,
the sunlight blankets me,
and the cicadas sing me to sleep.

when i wake,
time doesn’t seem to have passed.
i am covered
in a light sheen of sweat,
no more or less
than when i fell asleep.

the beach house still shades me,
the sand still sticks
between my toes.
there is no difference between
the paradise
before sleep nor after.
i look around for a clock,
and find none.

the swing is still moving,
the cicadas still screaming.
the lizard has disappeared for good.

i let my feet fall to the ground,
and stand up,
pushing through the humid haze
that has gathered in my head.

inside,
it is cold and dark,
and i am tired once more.

the couch is inviting,
the cool fabric absorbs my sweat,
and the hum of the air conditioning
replaces the constant noise of the cicadas.

i am at peace still,
never having broken
the trance of the beach.

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