the last time you flew


you came home with your pockets full of denmark.   silver bracelets and bright feather earrings that tickle your neck.   strange white rocks that remind you of the beach — how the air was warm but the water was way too cold.   every time you call me I hold my breath.   belize.   madagascar.   barcelona.   I open the door on this ohio backyard.   it rained last night;  now everything smells like earthworms.   spring is finally here.   life in the budding tree chitters and squawks.   somewhere a hawk screams and my little dog wants back inside.   when I hear the phone ring, I wait — just a minute.   I know where you’re going, this time.


big leaves moon –
she books a flight
to albania



miz quckly’s #7 | 1375 | process


7 thoughts on “the last time you flew

  1. “big leaves moon” is the apache name for the april (full) moon.
    I like to use moon names as kigo in my haiku.

  2. “Now everything smells like earthworms” really grounds this (yes, I know). But there are so many fine touches in that “prose”.

    1. oh, thanks brenda. I fiddled with it a bit, but I think it’s done now.
      feeling a little reflective on my baby girl’s 21st birthday…


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