Summer
Spider web of lip trails descending
clothes tossed in a wicker basket ten feet from where it needs to be
we are motionless beneath
the ceiling fan’s mercy
when we venture—
and we must—
the grass coaxes blood from the des(s)erts of our feet
blistered when bare on sidewalk
and our yips can’t echo in the red dirtscape like they did in the mountain cold air
cars like halfway houses
water is water
and a lake or a bed—
once commonplace—
is Eden
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Kathryn Ordiway is a small-town Pennsylvanian living in Oklahoma. A transcriptionist by day and writer by night, she splits her time between typing other peoples’ words and writing her own. In her spare time, she enjoys classical music, tea, British crime dramas, and heavy blankets. She received her degree in English, with concentrations in Creative Writing and Literature, from Saint Vincent College.
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