National Poetry Month

Doors Thrown Open to Daisies by Rick Agran

Warm slipperiness of us in the car’s backseat
hot July afternoon coming home and we cannot wait
for bed’s winding sheet and mirror’s last glance before we fall.
Instead we have each other smelling of coconut lotion,
spangled with sand and salt crystals, wild wind-styled hair,
bathing suits still damp, still cooling our bodies.

White cotton shirt ties arms entangled in a hurry,
the light and dark of us tanned and not,
worn like smooth and seamless suits, marks that never leave
our skin, necks salty and offered, the back of this field
haven enough for this whirl of us in a moment of surrender
we practice like children with a white flag.