The Window

No pain, no gain. That’s what they say. I went to the dunes with my friends on Saturday. We all failed to bring sunscreen along. We climbed the dunes, one after the other, and lay out. A man controlled a drone near-by. It sounded like a bee. Then we went and danced in the waves. And lay out. And skipped rocks. And laughed. And we all burned most hideously. A couple girls had already gotten the first burn of the year, so they tanned. Lucky ducks. No pain, no gain. That’s what they say. It was memories.

Now for the poem.

The window is open.

I hear the spring peepers singing to each other, singing to the sky. 

The night wants to come in, it wants to invade, to snuff out the lights this side of the window. 

I keep the lights on, barring the night, instead, the night sends in the wind. 

Tree branches are snuffling, spring peepers are purring, stars are winking at me through the open window. 

I hear the windchimes, accompanying the peepers, the mournful chimes singing in the wind. 

This side of the window, my tea is hot in the brown mug. 

This side of the window, the purple and white irises centerpiece the table. The purple ones smell like soap, but the white ones smell like sweet summer. 

This side of the window, we sleep. 

Outside the window, the night is awake. 

The window is open, and soon I will shut the lights, and the night will creep in and embrace the sleeping. 

Lp 2020

G’day mates. Or should I say, g’eve. Like, good evening. How do they say in Australia? Good evening, folks and friends and furry creatures.