Orioles
There is a system of caves I depend upon
heavily to keep the winter out of me. I pour wax into them,
watch the weather melt. I pour bass into my body,
get slippery with shake. This is to say—I am blanketed
in small sounds & small movements, covered in birds
cracking echinacea seeds in little knife-beaks. I'm skinnydipping in corn silk. I'm buttered with light from the windows
& the shadows cast on the ceiling are skulls & isn't it portentous
to tease the dark this way? You were falling asleep on camera
as I was waking up on camera. We are recorded or recording always.
We are flooding with future. Unlock the door, check for mail,
buy a sandwich, back in bed, ride my mattress like a kite
to the wilds of Iowa & by wilds I mean anywhere
we can take our shoes off. In the time it takes to dry my hair,
it'll be spring & we'll be over-caffeinated in the grass.
I'm buttered with light, savoring the sweet & salt.
Photography
Jessica Polar