Stop.
Dry your eyes
go sit on the porch
in your favorite rocking chair
the one that reminds you of
tangerines and peach ice cream
of Nina Simone and mandolins
of her.
Drink in your sorrow from a paper cup
and watch as the sinking sun
slips away into an infinite pool
of cloud and sky.
Streaks of orange and red as rich as the
over-ripe peaches you would pick
with her
for ice cream.
Look into your cup
see the deep orange swirl of the sorrow you drink.
Notice the taste on your tongue
sweet like a juicy tangerine.
Feel the evening breeze against the fine hair on
your bare arms and
on your sun-kissed shoulders.
Breathe in
and then let it go.
See the breeze blow specks of orange and gold
like tangerine dust
into the world around you.
Look into your cup of sorrow,
once full, now empty.
The air smells sweet
like Tupelo honey and sunshine
like mandolins and peach ice cream
like tangerines.
Does she still remember times like these?
Author Bio:
Christy Anna Jones, a writer and poet, holds a BA in Psychology from the University of Georgia. Sober for four years, Christy is currently addicted to Belvita cookies, Amazon Prime, and The Game of Thrones. Writing, running, and music all help keep her (semi-) sane. An avid poet in her youth, Christy again turned to poetry to help her process her grief after losing her mom, aunt, and beloved dog all to cancer. Christy’s work has appeared in a variety of publications, including: Halcyon Magazine, Emerge Literary Journal, and Melancholy Hyperbole. Christy lives in Texas with her husband, cat, two dogs, two donkeys and twelve cows, but Georgia will always be on her mind. Visit Christy at ChristyAnnaJones.com.
Dry your eyes
go sit on the porch
in your favorite rocking chair
the one that reminds you of
tangerines and peach ice cream
of Nina Simone and mandolins
of her.
Drink in your sorrow from a paper cup
and watch as the sinking sun
slips away into an infinite pool
of cloud and sky.
Streaks of orange and red as rich as the
over-ripe peaches you would pick
with her
for ice cream.
Look into your cup
see the deep orange swirl of the sorrow you drink.
Notice the taste on your tongue
sweet like a juicy tangerine.
Feel the evening breeze against the fine hair on
your bare arms and
on your sun-kissed shoulders.
Breathe in
and then let it go.
See the breeze blow specks of orange and gold
like tangerine dust
into the world around you.
Look into your cup of sorrow,
once full, now empty.
The air smells sweet
like Tupelo honey and sunshine
like mandolins and peach ice cream
like tangerines.
Does she still remember times like these?
Author Bio:
Christy Anna Jones, a writer and poet, holds a BA in Psychology from the University of Georgia. Sober for four years, Christy is currently addicted to Belvita cookies, Amazon Prime, and The Game of Thrones. Writing, running, and music all help keep her (semi-) sane. An avid poet in her youth, Christy again turned to poetry to help her process her grief after losing her mom, aunt, and beloved dog all to cancer. Christy’s work has appeared in a variety of publications, including: Halcyon Magazine, Emerge Literary Journal, and Melancholy Hyperbole. Christy lives in Texas with her husband, cat, two dogs, two donkeys and twelve cows, but Georgia will always be on her mind. Visit Christy at ChristyAnnaJones.com.
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