fresh cut grass

by Angela Thomas

and you know, and I know, that everytime
that I call you, I've been drunk, intoxicated
under something that must have tasted
just like honeysuckle. Tonight was different

though, the air smelled like fresh cut grass
and it looked like a dream, a light cloud
with light scattered about, thrown into all
the places that would normally be dark,

especially those places. So, within one
of the darkest places I can think of, something
stirred. I dialed. It rang twice. An automated
voice asked me to leave a message. I thought

I already had sent you all I could. One full week
sober, that's all I wanted to tell you, that's all I've got.


Posted on 02/16/2005
Copyright © 2023 Angela Thomas

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