This might be my favorite thing you’ve ever written: “I want to hear the squeak of pulleys on weekend mornings. / I want to fall asleep to the sound of someone else’s Sinatra. Coltrane. Nina Simone. / What if we let each other air our dirty laundry? What if we found comfort there?” I closed my eyes and *felt* 1940’s Brooklyn. Summer. Thank you.
Morning glory seeds! Always a good idea to soak, mine are knee high now. I’m with you on listening to someone else’s Coltrane/Sinatra, makes me think of growing up and listening to my parents playing their vinyl on hot summer evenings…..
You had me at saggy neck and then meandered so beautifully elsewhere ✨
This might be my favorite thing you’ve ever written: “I want to hear the squeak of pulleys on weekend mornings. / I want to fall asleep to the sound of someone else’s Sinatra. Coltrane. Nina Simone. / What if we let each other air our dirty laundry? What if we found comfort there?” I closed my eyes and *felt* 1940’s Brooklyn. Summer. Thank you.
The sound of summer for me is hearing other people's cutlery clattering through an open kitchen window.
one hundred percent! my favorite
Love this. Thank you.
Kindred spirit (city fruit trees deserve a thousand poems): https://poets.org/poem/fig-tree-9th-and-christian
Morning glory seeds! Always a good idea to soak, mine are knee high now. I’m with you on listening to someone else’s Coltrane/Sinatra, makes me think of growing up and listening to my parents playing their vinyl on hot summer evenings…..