A hand fans the coals
to make a fire to make raw meat
edible. Another hand
hangs idly by.
Their life is a camera
hung on a swing in the woods.
Like a switchboard it captures
the sun in increments. The stream
is an unerring backwards
clock-face. Two legs propel
themselves towards a ball.
The ball is a watermelon named
“ball.” The woods are a painting.
Naming is one way
to understand a thing. The fire
is roaring or at least it’s usually
roaring. There is a smell called jasmine
and an air called summer. The birds
make sex or they make war.
The hands are interested too.
They hold themselves out
to be invited inside.
SUZANNE HIGHLAND is a native of Florida currently living in New York, where she teaches writing in public high schools and at CUNY. She has a BA from Florida State University and an MFA from Hunter College, where she was a recipient of the Miriam Weinberg Richter Memorial Award. She has also been awarded fellowships or prizes from The Community of Writers at Squaw Valley and Vermont Studio Center, and her poetry has been published or is forthcoming in Cosmonauts Avenue, Bone Bouquet, No, Dear, and LEVELER, among others. Visit her at suzannehighland.com