Days
By Brittany N. Jones
They were the days of cotton dresses,
sun-warmed clothespins on lines sewing together sky.
Days blowing bubbles
planting seeds in the flowerbed
sipping tea from butter-cups
hiding from thunderstorms
holding Daddy's hand.
But clocks keep ticking
suns keep setting
thunderstorms still roll through.
Like roses,
we tuck them to sleep
beneath the garden.
Let thorns stand guard.
sun-warmed clothespins on lines sewing together sky.
Days blowing bubbles
planting seeds in the flowerbed
sipping tea from butter-cups
hiding from thunderstorms
holding Daddy's hand.
But clocks keep ticking
suns keep setting
thunderstorms still roll through.
Like roses,
we tuck them to sleep
beneath the garden.
Let thorns stand guard.
Sometime
By Brittany N. Jones
Sometimes the sun doesn’t completely disappear behind the clouds.
We carry pieces of it
on our skin,
tangled in our hair,
stains on our shirts.
Time moves with a slow, heavy tread,
knocking against the peeling paper I grew up taping back in place.
We get caught in time;
she carries us off before we realize we’ve moved.
Strange how smiles change,
voices deepen,
hearts keep beating while missing pieces,
yet we keep making footprints on the quietly spinning earth.
We carry pieces of it
on our skin,
tangled in our hair,
stains on our shirts.
Time moves with a slow, heavy tread,
knocking against the peeling paper I grew up taping back in place.
We get caught in time;
she carries us off before we realize we’ve moved.
Strange how smiles change,
voices deepen,
hearts keep beating while missing pieces,
yet we keep making footprints on the quietly spinning earth.
About the Author
Hi, my name is Brittney N. Jones and I am double majoring in English Secondary Education/English Language and Literacy Major with a minor in Creative Writing. I am also a peer mentor here at the University.