Days pass, everything is swim lessons, dandelions cracking the driveway’s edge. All the world’s a task to be Google Calendared. Who sustains it? The electric rush and glide, I mean, the deep currents over which we float, the tides that bring us babies, then carry them back out into their own dark seas. Days pass and I am Play-Doh, left unlidded on the floor, exposed to air, gone stale. Days pass but they are not days, they are soccer matches and peanut butter. Cold waffle, saxophone. But also, one of those days, I am a fancy tea party. I am extra honey licked off the spoon. I knead my own fingers until they tingle. Summon that blood and flow. I’m no god, I birth children and dentist appointments. I scoop an ant off the countertop, into my warm and pulsing palm, convey it lordly out the back door, release us onto the everyday grass.
Kristen Holt-Browning is a freelance editor and writer based in the Hudson Valley of New York State. Her poems, short stories, and creative nonfiction pieces have been published in Juxtaprose, Necessary Fiction, and Tahoma Literary Review.