Writing

Momentarily

Created in spring 2021 for ENGL 131 (Introduction to Poetry Writing)

lying in a meadow with no visible bounds, high grass extending all the way

to the azure horizon, sun directly above, gossamer 

rays beaming towards the plain, my peachy-tan

tones glittering, every muscle relaxed

to near unfeeling, head tilted entirely

left, cheek resting on the soft ground, arms crossed loosely

over chest, hands meeting in the middle, fingers

of right hand hovering ever so slightly over left, lifted steadily

up,    up,    up,           down,    down,    down,  then

back up again, a warm breeze

on my face and over my body, caressing

my stomach, upper arms, and forehead

like an invisible blanket, a second skin, and

making me drowsy, content, peaceful, suspending time, but not

dampening my hairline or trickling sweat down my neck, though

the backs of my knees and thighs are sticking somewhat to silk beneath me, and there’s

a new gust carrying hints of honeysuckle and hay, flitting 

my baby hairs, tickling my eyelid, swaying

footlong pistachio-sage green stems beside my face, rustling

as air weaves between stalks, occasionally

brushing my cheek, breaking up

the sky scattered with shifting white caricatures—once

a dragonfly, then a toucan, now a sea turtle—with

flecks of lavender and canary-blonde yellow, sun spots

floating in the corners of my eyes, shadows from taller grasses

across the straps of my sheer sundress, an ant

trailing my knee, a bee buzzing faintly

above my elbow, then

a dandelion bursts at the bud and

fuzzy white seeds drift weightlessly in the air, one hovers above me,

momentarily,

before landing lightly on the tip of my nose