5.26.19 / by Melissa Laree Cunningham

and yet, so right
today i
pulled weeds and
planted seeds
for a hopeful pumpkin months away
i clipped the frail blooms of wild carrot which i’ve
given space to roam across the yard and
pushed their thin green stalks into the pint jar on my desk.
i rooted slips of, also hopeful, sweet potatoes who
grow slowly on the window sill for two months time.
i stood cloaked in sweat
seeping from my pores
they told me it was cooler here
but the humid air, the heavy skin followed from
the gulf coast of my birth
standing in fields
standing in a front yard
standing in hidden paths of forest walks
standing in
standing in
standing in
and sitting quietly while
the sun sets
and an equation from a google search tells me
that from my vantage point of roughly
twenty feet above the ground
i am seeing the horizon line only nine point six miles away
but four point five hours earlier while i
lay in the path in my garden watching
the tiny black ants crawl over me
the horizon was zero point zero miles away;
on top of me
and maybe if i lay there long enough
the weight of a sun falling into line
would burn me up
eat me up
and leave behind a what would call me then?