The Sky on Long Summer Days

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I remember scrunching up into a ball

as low as I could in the backseat of

my parents’ car on summer vacations

(sun-drenched and filled with sweetest things)

and squinting my eyes so that there was

only me and the sky and the whir of

all the things passing by

 

The feeling comes back to me often

though I can’t find the words for it __

the being one with the sky, that seemed

the only constant thing and I could

never touch it or fly right up to it,

though the gravitational pull up

there was so strong

 

The safety of being so still amidst

all that movement, the getting from

here to there that existed to my

childlike mind as a cartography drafted

by the wizards and sorcerers responsible

for all the best of our earthly wanderings,

treasures over the rainbow

 

And for all the adventures that awaited,

the junk cereal indulged in, the death-defying

walks across slippery waterfall rocks, the secrets

my father told his gleeful daughters in his

hushed whispers, it always came to this:

the sky through the car, the warmest invitation,

holding my future safe.

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3 thoughts on “The Sky on Long Summer Days

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