I’ve given my mind a name. It’s Celeste.
As in: Celeste, where are we going today? On
another ramble? A picnic in the woods?
Peaches and ham sandwiches spread out
on a red checkered blanket under our
favorite tree? Mon cheri, I miss you:
most days I look for you but you’ve wandered
off. And when I call you back, well, you don’t
have much to say for yourself. So a picnic.
Look, I’ve remembered lemonade, your favorite.
No, you prefer iced tea? Dear, I remember
better than you what you like. Shall I remind
you, Celeste? Apples? You want apples? No
dear, you’ve always preferred peaches. Plums?
All right, nectarines, a compromise. I
compromise myself. And iced coffee. Tuna,
instead of ham. And it wasn’t this tree?
It was an oak, not a maple. Are you sure?
You sat on an acorn? That doesn’t prove
anything. Alright. I’ll fold up the blanket.
But Celeste, couldn’t you just for this little
bit of time go to sleep? Or eat your sandwich.
Collage by Soosen Dunholter
Smoky Quartz 