poem

Picnic

We pack our wicker hamper, sandwiches in triangles, crunchy apples, a flask of lemonade.

Set out for a day. An imaginary day. Away.

Lay out the best rug, in our garden,
no further. Not yet, not today,

The sun is warm and we dream of
days past, days yet to come,

Of all the places we will go, the faces we will see.

Of the warmth we will feel. On
that day.