Flow by Andreas Wonisch
Sun Day
Missed Connections in Brooklyn
bathed and incased in a wall of sound
beneath the falls, against the high
walls
is where we first met, watching saturday
turn into sunday, our hands intwined
with the rhythm of
time
it felt like some long lost summer sunshine
the kind you could put in a box
and save as a
souvenir
only to be opened many years latter
sunshine still
intact
that box now sits five feet high off the floor
on a shelf by my bedside, and
though it’s not been opened
in many
years
there are days when i’m tempted to peek in
and feel the warmth of it’s orange glow
and to remember how your lips
tasted
that day when they were baked in
sunshine and glued to
mine
it’s 2023 on a sunday morning when
i awaken to the sound of water
running down the
walls
carrying a small box in my hands i move closer
to the edge of the falls and at the moment
when the sun lights the
earth
and light gives birth to the new day
i open the
box
Her Two Cents
Don’t we all wish for some long lost summer sunshine to put in a box and save as a souvenir? When I read this poem I feel a warm glow on my back, smell the greenness of fresh water, and release completely as the humidity settles into my skin. Sometimes, just recalling the happy, magical days is enough of a light-box to get through the never-ending February.
