Lizzy Burnam 🐞

Mint, mulch, raspberry. 
                Electric sting, the bee’s wings 
buzzing. Bare feet follow
                hot tar squiggles into the creek, 
bloated with spring melt. Water-
                melon, as much 
as our mouths could hold. Four hands 
                wrapped around a garden hose. Soft 
sienna hair draped like a wedding 
                veil. A neural pathway taking shape 
slow as a sunburn, warped 
                inside my body, exclamation point 
cramped into a question mark. 
                Butterflies. Cool breeze at sunset. 
The dinner whistle. Tomorrow, 
                tomorrow. Slipping 
flip flops back on and walking home.