04-20-2015, 09:53 AM
Under Glass
I see you in our April morning garden,
barefoot in the dew, the cuffs of your favorite jeans
rolled up exactly twice, revealing all but the sting
of your scorpion ankle tattoo.
Under the gazebo, your coffee and magazines
sit on that perfect tripod table we found,
just three doors down at the year’s first garage sale—
you clapped your hands for joy,
having paid with a handful of change.
The trellis behind you is budding,
and the grass is finally green.
I wish you could see it too.
I see you in our April morning garden,
barefoot in the dew, the cuffs of your favorite jeans
rolled up exactly twice, revealing all but the sting
of your scorpion ankle tattoo.
Under the gazebo, your coffee and magazines
sit on that perfect tripod table we found,
just three doors down at the year’s first garage sale—
you clapped your hands for joy,
having paid with a handful of change.
The trellis behind you is budding,
and the grass is finally green.
I wish you could see it too.