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Good Poetry

Flipping Through Seasons

Sophie Yu

out of blue chapped lips, the starless
sky stretches beyond this splintering
park bench, molding itself into the cement
rolling at our feet. the winter turns
our noses scarlet and powders
the pavement white, our tracks
still fresh. the air still
of hot chocolate and wet soil, rich and dark
as your hair under the moon.

i am humming against your shoulder, your pulse
forming a constellation with mine. i think
about walks through fields of dew-shiny grass
in spring: poppies, tulips, marigolds–fluttering
their thin, velvety petals in a delicate breeze.
you think about summer: picnicking
out on wave-swept beaches, our steps engraved
into the clay-soft shore. we are both thinking
about fall: sunburnt burgundy, sienna yellow: the color
of my mother’s warm, custard egg tarts
dyeing the leaves, leaving them
crisp and dry–crunching beneath our boots.

we sit in silence, soaking the winter
in our veins, watching snow fall into our laps.

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