There Is An Island I Know
There is an island I know I shouldn’t even mention— it’s a fairy tale, you see where no one wears shoes and no one needs to— the houses are hobbit-like with grass on the roofs and the food is fresh from a nearby farm every morning the tea sits steeping on long wooden counters with toast and jams from local berries— the crickets always crick here and the birds call, the kind that make you stop and say, “Now that is a beautiful song”— the sun is hot without a cloud in the sky and the beach runs out for a mile in silky white sand so that when the tide flows back in the afternoon it heats up, warm as a bath, when it rains you build puzzles, and paint, and read and light fires that crackle and smell like cedar saunas and each night, rain or shine, you drink wine and listen to records while you play games— and sometimes you’ll lay in long grass and chase the stars around the sky heads close together with the ones you love— each day is the same you do what brings you peace— and the wildest part of it all is the island is real my toes are in its sand. Other Poems Read Today: "If" by Rudyard Kipling "A Dream Within A Dream" by Edgar Allan Poe xx Atticus @atticuspoetry www.atticuspoetry.com
