The warm water in the garden hose. Has always been calming to me. One side of the metal thread is caved in. Maybe I stepped on it.
Now even when I have the nozzle on, water dribbles down my hand, onto my jeans.
I water the plants and imagine them squabbling like children, complaining the shower is too hot.
I pick strawberries off the soil and eat them whole.
I feel the dirt in-between my teeth.
It makes me remember what I wanted summer to be.
Green during the day and porch at night.
Squeaky brakes on rusty bikes.
Greasy hair and patches on your jeans.
School vacation summer tans with the words “I’m half Portuguese.”
This happened last summer too. I stayed inside too long. I didn’t have a garden then. I was using the hose to wash the car. When I felt the warm water I instantly regretted not being outside every second I could. But look what happened. Another summer passed and I got sad and stayed inside. I’m writing this so I remember to live deliberately, to take care of myself, to spend more time in the grass. To be the warm water in the garden hose.
Okay, we didn’t work, and all
memories to tell you the truth aren’t good.
But sometimes there were good times.
Love was good. I loved your crooked sleep
beside me and never dreamed afraid.
There should be stars for great wars like ours.”
I want to be in love. I wish I drove to Maine to see the northern lights. I want that moment. I want to be sitting in the grass watching the lights with someone I love.