barefoot

In the negative light of winter, when we walk on white
and look at black, I like to remember cool grass
kissing my bare feet, warm sand hugging my toes,
a light breeze luffing my shirt, the comfort of shadow,
the gold delight of sun. When the tiny winter sun
hoards heat like a parking lot lamp, I like to remember
walking a hot sidewalk under a sun hat, my arms
and neck plastered with sun-block/insect repellent.
When the winter wind slashes branches against
the house and sculpts snow into whimsical curves,
I like to remember a guitar plunking around the campfire,
the bang of the screen door and the rhythm of bare
feet on the wooden floor. When the wind knocks snow
off a tree and down my neck, I think of your fingers trailing
through the hair on my neck as you walked beside me
down to the water for a quiet swim as the sun sets.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/ Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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