An original poem by me.
A freshly mowed lawn
with rows of clumpy greenness
the backyard rhombus criscrossed in lines
of crewcut vegetation
Green on my knees, I laugh
it smells like long ago
back when swings were flipping me into
another dimension
There's a bug on your shoulder
I flick it away--
it's not a good day for squishing life
even ants.
Scorpion sun sharp behind
skeins of cloud
it's almost dusk
I smell the neighbor's fireplace.
Wet grass was cut, and left to rot
in rows beneath the summer sky
the lawn bore brown stripes, after that:
it smelled like the night everything burned.
Elemental wraiths of smoke
that crumbled at my touch
were everywhere;
I tried not to breathe them in.
But it wasn't our house.
It wasn't everything.
we kissed and made dinner while
a neighbor's child found the plastic eye
of a doll, amidst the ashes.
I wrote the poem above at work today. For some reason, sitting in my cube, I suddenly remembered the smell of a freshly cut lawn. It was such a vivid memory I briefly wondered if I was actually smelling it -- but then I remembered that I don't work near any windows, and they never clean out the air vents in this place.
I would appreciate feedback on this poem. In daylogs, you can never be sure what a vote means: I know people sometimes downvote ALL daylogs, or upvote ALL daylogs, so the votes don't end up meaning very much. If someone has the time, it would be nice to know what you think.