Longing

I long to live somewhere far away
where the past and the present are separated only by a white chalk line, that’s been dusted out, and blown away, so faintly that the two are almost as one.

A life in a farm house, with a green yard and faded tin mailbox. A laundry line hangs out like a flag for a proud people. Momma’s armor is her apron, and she hold her victories over homemade pickles and jams than came from her humble castle.

I long for river swims and summer night parties. Where you and I climb trees in our bare feet and skinned knees.

12.23.14 1:11 am