I go on a drive with you.
The destination is not
known. That’s the point,
the journey. Holding
hands until one of
us realizes that
we’re squeezing.
You are the reason
I think so clear,
lucidity.
Now it is raining
and we are at our
favorite place,
the library. We
run inside getting
soaked to the bone
in the process. You
took off your shoes
so they wouldn’t
get wet. Your footprints
are now on the cement
under the awning.
I think of those
toes, the curve
of your arch,
the way those
feet fall into
place, wet with
the rain,
repletion of
the thought, patter,
patter, pat.
You laugh as my rubber clogs squeak, so do I, as we hold hands yet again and enter the building’s light.
Jeremy Scott is from Albany, Georgia. He is a full-time writer and poet living with a mental health disability. He has been previously published in eris & eros review and Plants & Poetry Journal. He has a forthcoming publication in October in Beyond Words Magazine. His website is thesaltlamp.net
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