A Hope Chest of Light Keeping

June and pie.

She begins in a color-wheel of pinks and greens. Hummingbirds visit the back porch feeder and the crepe myrtle reaches towards the sky out front. The grass is cut. And the neighbors cut theirs too, the endless race to have a yard that will, please god, stay beautiful for more than 3 days. The clover comes back though, it always does. Deer eat Mom’s plants and I plant a planter of my own outside of the apartment door. The light dances off the mobil in the window while John plays his new playstation, a Birthday gift. We finally put the rugs down in the living room and dining room. It feels like we live here, a little. Do we live here? And where will we live next? Am I ever going to have a place to buy nice furniture for and rooms to paint of my own?

I get ahead of myself sometimes.

I should focus more on this second, this day. This moment.

In this moment I am longing for a long stroll through the library, quietly touching the spines of the paperbacks and looking through my phone at images of taken of books I long to find and read. My flip-flops make a bubble sound on the worn carpet. It smells like cold and paper. Everyone whispers.

And then after that I would lay on the porch swing in the humidity and rock and read with something to drink. The light falling on my shoulders and slowly as it gets hotter, I slip into a nap only to be awoken by dinner. After dinner, perhaps a movie or a show. Or more sitting on the porch. I miss being a little girl so much I can hardly breathe sometimes.

I had the chance to go back to that time in a way last summer and I loved it. I also was restless and lonely. But to have that two times a week? I would be able to live in both worlds contently, not too far over each line. A little for me, a little for you. Is that possible?

So much responsibility sits on my shoulders these days I feel myself struggling under the weight, the way I crumble butter and brown sugar on top of peaches to make a pie. A little heat from my hands, the whole thing becomes malleable. I am less bendable. I break off in little pieces-pie crust flakes of myself flying behind me. Losing the golden brown of well baking, well being. All soft, mushy stuff is visible to the world, until it hardens by the elements.

Has my heart done the same?

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