My baby is a poet. This made me happy, sad and wistful for deep summer evenings.
Wheatfields
The
sky is black and the air is dark
I
can hardly see the hand in front of my face
looking
up to see pieces of light scattered through the sky
like
the freckles on your face
I
close my eyes and breathe in the freshness of the wheat
and
the pungent onions
mixed
with the sound of sprinklers
I
open my eyes and no longer recognize the smell of the earth
I hear
the rain on my window
But
it’s not the same
I
close my eyes again
So I
can breathe in my crisp air and your scent
Kaitlyn Meyer
14 October 2014
Professor Conner
Sometimes,
when it rains at night here, it reminds me of summer in my hometown. I can
close my eyes and almost feel myself sitting on my back deck with my closest friends
in the pitch black, the only light being the stars. We listen to the
sprinklers, which on some nights, sound just like the rain here. I can remember
the smell of the wheat fields, fresh and a little earthy. And when it's harvest
time, the wheat mixes with the onions, which add a little bit of a pungent,
sour almost, smell to the scent.
I
open my eyes again and see I’m not in the place full of wheat and onions and
love, but am somewhere entirely new. Somewhere I’m not used to. Somewhere I
still have to learn about, and create my own love and life at. And that
inspires a sense of longing in myself, longing for the feelings and smells that
I know.
When
it rains here, it makes me want to go back to summer in my hometown, and be
with the people I miss most.
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