Summer Picnic Billowing white sheets Snap in the earth-scented breeze As the wind tugs them from hands Until they float to the ground. Like wisps of clouds, They drop from azure skies. Ants traipse the crisp, white mountains In search of bread crumbs, Tasting the honeydew air with Spindly antennae. A lazy morning dove coos, Missing early morning mist Like the sweat-sticky train With the cracked linoleum seats That smell vaguely of something summerish: Sunscreen, chlorine, or apricots. The world is drenched in blue, The foreground to a ragged, used-to-be-red kite, Left one summer ago, Or maybe two. Flies hop from leg to leg, Sniffing out some sweet strawberry, Seedy and ripe, Dribbling down the chin of a baby. Fingernails swoop viscously, Half-heartedly swatting at the benign, buzzing beasts. As the sun sways into a Port de bras beneath the horizon, Water burbles at the ankles of children Who dig their toes in silt until Crawfish come to bite. Clinging to their mother’s soft, Freckled arm They stumble down to Wave white handkerchiefs At a tiny, paper boat, Wafting down the creek into the Cool breeze of dusk.
Abigail Kortering ‘22
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