it seems you got your wish:
no june bugs left to bother you.
their crusted bodies
dissipate, spreading like spice
across the earth.
spice in the dirt.
spice in your hair.
the remnants that circle
in galactic dance,
onward towards andromeda.
i dare you to look to the sky –
that jaw-dropping sunset
every single night.
stargaze on the hills
to escape the rising sea.
if you strain your eyes,
you might see mars
and venus. where can i go
to watch my city
burn – the clementine fields –
the amber-dust beach –
mandarins crystalizing
between my teeth.
i grew up
where birds had voices –
where they sang
all through the day
and all through the night
and never took no for an answer.
migrating geese
battled ducks to the death.
the trees prepared for winter.
the snow, a gleaming white –
the sky, a gentle blue –
birds with purple eyes
if that is what you’d like;
—
Jacqueline Gordon is a poet from Northern California. Her work has been published in Open Ceilings Magazine. She has a degree in English from UC Davis and graduated with Highest Honors in 2019. She currently lives in Seattle and writes professionally as a UX content designer.
