Don’t you feel it? That urge to just sit
and exist?
Patio season does that to me.
A red umbrella and half-wilted, potted flowers grab
my gaze. Draw me in.
Pour me a cold kombucha in a glass and I’ll just
sit here. I’ll just exist.
Sip, slide
my flip-flops off my feet.
Watch the yellow jackets curl/rub their spindly
front legs (…arms?) together.
Flinch
when one hovers under my left eyelid.
Soften my spine against the slats
of a chair. Wooden, smooth.
I am held. I am breezed over. Wafted
by shadows. Just out of reach of the sun.
This patio puts me at peace.
This
is existing. I am existing. I am.