Soft Hands & Lighthouses
dear, do you remember our
apartment in montpelier?
the one dipped in
a dingy blood moon canopy
with the turkey-stuffed patchwork couch,
bloated and sinking with fake feathers, the ones i stuck up your nose
and made you sneeze ten times.
do you recall the room
with the smooth oak chairs,
carved with soft hands at the friday flea market
from the lavender lady with the rough smile that winked at our long fingers, locked and laced,
long ago on that september afternoon, love-making by the window i pretended was a lighthouse
by the atlantic,
winking away as the diamond-encrusted daydream rose and sunk like the peach-moon. dear, i
long for the oven-roasted evenings tucked under thrifted quilts we soon lost
toasting for nights we later made up.
Julie A. Larick is a student and writer living in Cleveland. She is an English and Environmental Societies major at The College of Wooster. Julie edits for The Incandescent Review and interns at GASHER Journal. She has poems in Kalopsia Literary Journal, The Incandescent Review, Ogma Magazine, and others. Julie loves to sew, watercolor, and was born in 2003. Her portfolio is http://www.julielarickwriting.com and her Twitter is @crookyshanks.