reading a well-written story — you know like the kind that gets published in these journals–
is like being transported back to long family road trips
where you fall asleep in the back of the car,
head tilted against the glass, soft hum of tire riding pavement
blends with the hush of mom and dad’s chatter
in, tire whirs
out, shhhhh
in, voices blur
out, zzzzz
you are carried off to dreamland
waves of imagery too thick to wade through
lull you into a gentle transcendent state
as your eyes gloss over the page,
swept into a story you do not quite understand
is it ethereal ? — also a word you do not understand
somehow beautiful
somehow not quite within reach
like lemon-bright light shimmering on a pool’s surface,
its warm dance bounces shyly across skin
and scatters at the slightest motion
like an echo ricocheting off distant cliffs
distant memories fade fastest when you try to hold on
soft, softer, softest, gone
wake from the slumber
forgetful
what have you just read?
Sarah the Adventurer 