In the verdant, sylph like morning, my younger self dreams. On Aquidneck Island, a sea monster eating Ma’s Doughnuts. Just the doughnuts. Ma smokes soft, salty dreams in the back while she bakes in love in every bite. My hunger is a form of weeping. The hole in me changes shape, being made of wind and sea. Wine dark, my thoughts creep over the hill and into the soft, lush grass of the sleepy old battlefield. My older self is a shadow among the birch trees, watching little me tenderly as she builds her boat. She will set sail under the negligent moon.
Miniature Moon 