Two Poems
polaroid
rain on the porch mid-morning
i’m holding your head in my arms
because this is what we do when
we want to keep each other safe
dog asleep at your feet, her tongue
quietly lolled on the wooden floor
i’m thinking about the stray light
peeking through your eyelashes
in the lens of the disposable camera
the room empty saved for you
whispering in my ear, brushing the
hair from my forehead
so full, so holy,
worth saving
ode to june
gold and taut from the sun,
remnants of raspberries & mango juice,
a little sigh emerges, flutter of lips, much like
the wisp of tide as we stood at its edge
the way i remember things, my life,
has changed and i wonder what of
the sand delicately kissing your ankles,
head on your forearms to nestle in
the sweetest bit of t-shirt shade,
salt making the most beautiful lines
on your shoulder blades,
will let me hold its importance,
its impermanence
your hand reaching for mine as we rounded
the hills freckled with trees, the mountain
revealing its ever-present gateway to the ocean,
i said look at the moon, you said
i think it’s a strawberry moon
i suppose i had forgotten the
gentle thoughts of flowers
iris, lupine, poppy,
& the redwood sorrel that folds
toward the ground in direct sunlight,
reopening in the near night
so when you pressed your mouth
to my forehead, with the blinds only
slightly ajar, i couldn’t help
but to be like the sorrel
tender, opalescent, blooming for you
V. S. Ramstack is a Pisces, a selective extrovert, and an avid crier. Besides poetry, she enjoys cats, flowers, and checking out too many books at the library. She received her MFA from Columbia College Chicago. Previous work can be found in Curator Magazine, Posit, Anti-Heroin Chic, and elsewhere.