Yuma Dreams

Published in Manastash Literary Journal 2018

And these are my memories:
warm, hard bound sand and gravel
flat against my spine, bright light fenced by blue
causing squinted eyes and droplets of salty water,
remnants from what used to be just desert,
geckos flittering past, curiosity of a road runner testing
its boundaries, quick chirps from a Mesquite tree with fledgling
hummingbirds awaiting mom’s return.

But the tree is not a remainder of what used to be,
rather a new addition, like the tan colored stucco, bleached tiled floors.

And these are my memories:
scents of Grandma’s spicy sausage tortellini soup,
saliva wells on pink flesh in anticipation of leftover red wine,
dough rises and presses against sweaty cellophane as
condensation drips into the bowl,
Grandpa’s thriller on the porch swing swaying North to South,
dominoes on the table from the night before,
head tingling with beads of sweat.

Soon I will have to open my eyes, come back to reality, but for
now I let Washington summer heat remind me of February in Arizona.