Author’s Note: Back in January when New Year’s resolutions were all the rage, I set a goal for myself to write creatively once a month. I didn’t care if anyone read it, I just wanted to do it for me. I was successful during the months of February, March, and April, but then fell off the bandwagon. Over the weekend, I went to a writing symposium with my dad. There was a part of me that was not excited about going. That part of me was afraid of being judged for my life choices (i.e. doing absolutely nothing with my English degree) and more afraid of looking like an amateur that didn’t belong. Fortunately, my fears were unwarranted and the symposium got my creative juices flowing. This poem was a result of a workshop I attended with Star Coulbrooke, my friend and former boss. The weekend reminded me that its important to keep doing what you love, even if it’s for a small audience and even if you are an amateur. 

Hammock on a Sunny Day

In the heat of the afternoon,
we crawl into the folds of fabric.
Two cradled bodies –
legs intertwined,
head nestled against chest.

A lullaby of
chirping birds and the
burblings of family
swaddles our senses.
We sway gently, lulled
by the push and pull of consciousness.

The sun keeps watch over us,
poking gently through the canopy of leaves
to nuzzle our cheeks as we dip
in and out of the shade.
Bonded by its rays, we
instinctively snuggle deeper.