I Wish There Was A Way To Bottle My Memories

Joel Sossa
Joel Sossa

California messy.
Sheets pulled aside
like a sleeping tide,
and the yellow sun winks at us
through the blinds.
Backyard citrus trees,
the smell of fresh lemon balm
on a white kitchen counter;
the coffee mug my mouth
comes home to
and the stale molasses cookies
in the cupboard.
We go to work.
We come back home.
This is our October comfort.

Cross-stitched cotton sweaters,
tangerine peels in the trash.
Witches at the front door with freckles
and mummies with a sweet tooth.
Your laundry mixing with mine.
Caterpillars hanging on low branches,
lizards in the cool shade.

I wish there was a way to remember this;
to softly tell myself in my sleep,
‘This is important,
this is so important,
I hope you’re paying attention.’TC mark

Read more by Schuyler here.

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