Crickets sharpen their legs against the grass,
the sound reminding me of a restaurant kitchen.
I’m waiting for the “chop, chop!”
and something removed rolling.
The sun sets on the horizon.
The trees settle on the drive.
The cicadas rejoice in the meadow.
The metallic clink of bells rises up from the distance
and an occasional dog whines.
Sitting on the porch in my nightdress –
white, thin and cool –
I absorb my surroundings,
observed only by the stars.
And yet I long for the opposite,
dreaming of traffic jams,
and bright light.
by Rebecca L. Atherton
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