Yesterday
Margaret Siu

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Yesterday you woke me

from my checkered covers

to stumbling bleary-eyed yawns

stretching my fingers to a new June sky,

 

Dappling shadows and the early light

wove satin in pale ripples

we drew when paddling our feet in the crisp wake

dripping watermelon juices

painting face and pavement sticky-red

racing down the length of our legs,

the same way we raced down and back

to tumbling giggles,

our hands knit together

cicada hymns echoing one cacophonic tune

under late August’s frail white constellations

knowing to

 

Hold on

to forget-me-nots tightly:

they were cut, but still sweet.

 

Dream on

to lift firefly wings softly:

they will always return.