Trish Saunders

CHERRY SUN

I like remembering us when the sun was beneficial,
we’re young, and drunk on being young,
linking arms in the tall grass,
 UV rays beaming as sweetly
on our weedy lawn
as on our mother’s peace roses.
Here she comes carrying Dixie cups
filled with (treat of treats!) cherry Kool-Aid
and a smiley glass pitcher.

Dad is in the Navy still, we can hear divorce
in the dark clouds at night, the door slams,
kaleidoscoping quilt covers,
but every morning, a forgiving, forgetting sky.

 

 

I SAILED THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER ONCE

on a rowboat, floating over my family’s expectations
of a good university, paid for by someone else,
and found a job fundraising for the ballet,

so easy, it was a great place that paid a pittance.
but not a single premiere of Swan Lake, Giselle,
Midsummer Night’s Dream or Firebird did I miss, 
but watched in rapture from my orchestra seat for free.

When I finally got into college, I learned exactly
how a mouse feels watching greatness
from a corner, but at least I know  
how to row a boat across 
a mighty big river, under a mighty big sun.