Return
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Why did we stop talking
about the sunsets we want to
chase around the globe,
the love waiting for us in a
mysterious plan, and that
finding summer sand in our carpets,
in wintertime, is not a nuisance—
it’s a clue to fortitude and flight.
Change your mind
about swimming naked at night—
your body pulsing through the water
like jellyfish, mindless and free.
Nothing will get you, except
this looseness, the letting go,
the surrender to the
the person you’ve built up.
Let’s stop talking about
how poor our eyes are.
What about the beauty of
these berries in the bowls
we made from clay and pebbles
during an afternoon
in the sun?
We make things that
will outlive us—a painting
of a woman on a veranda,
planting an oak tree to block the neighbors’ gazes,
a pie recipe, a song of despair.
That song of despair—
you play it on a turntable,
use your old headphones,
and lay back.
The song is a key that
turns your soul inside out—
the tears come.
You’re back to you.
Let’s go back to a time
we knew ourselves best—
the dust play, the bubbles
resting on a patch of wild grass,
the search for Orion,
napping in a pile of black and white dogs.
We’re barefoot, dirt under our fingernails,
sticky with sweat and oranges.
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By Jennifer Hill-Flores
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Jennifer's poetry, fiction, and essays have been featured in literary publications such as Bridge Eight, Funicular Literary Magazine, San Antonio Review, The Texas Poetry Assignment, and Flash Fiction Magazine. Beyond her writing, Jennifer earned an MA in Writing from Johns Hopkins University and a BFA in Writing, Literature & Publishing from Emerson College. She serves as a Teaching Artist with the Austin Library Foundation/Badgerdog Literary, an Adjunct Professor of Literary Studies at Austin Community College, and a reader for Ploughshares. These roles fuel her writing by reminding her of the power of stories to shape and heal.
You can explore her work at www.jenniferhillflores.com.
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Instagram & Facebook: @jenniferhillflores