Sunlight, on a Branch with Bren

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
About Bren & some friends & I romping around the Westcliff lighthouse after drinking the night before & having an absolutely wonderful time despite our hangovers

Submitted: July 13, 2012

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Submitted: July 13, 2012



Bren & I are swinging our legs on a tree trunk, tossing loose chunks of bark into the bumping meadowgrass. Talking lazily about the future above a thousand upturned feet of wild daises, seed-heavy. They move in the wind with the styrofoam resistance of their stems as the soil swallows long shadows. Bren's eyes are full of night's blue, sewn on like a healing bruise; last night Mary Ann's sailor gasoline set its grip on us, we are all self-combusting things. In the nine hours of new light the surrounding landscape looks reincarnated. The flaming tongue of the sun out tasting the air, coiling around cypress fronds beyond the shadows of power lines that divide a face. Far from the push of fog & poisonous gas, though we are still being watched.

A hundred feet away Sam lights a cigarette. From the tree trunk we can see the meadow spill into a large slab of ocean, barely rippling into the distance until its hue matches the horizon's pale blue. Monarch butterflies roll to the east, away from the lighthouse & sea, towards Bren until they are behind him. They flirt & fuck around his silhouette. He fails to notice, taking out a used dinner knife & slicing himself a piece of brie. The butterflies ooze, wait – hover. Two sailboats convulsing in the air as he crams the cheese into his mouth. Later, James & Megan join us on a clifftop deep within the palms of ice plants overlooking the sloshing blue glass juice, the bright purple blossoms spread out across the steep & eroding earth. James smiles & waves to us. He's holding Megan's hand & bringing beer.

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