Kingston Road

The crows are restless—a fox nearby.
And I think, this is holy. The river and sky both
the colour of wanting, reflecting like sisters.
As we pass the old house, my mother
tells me not to look too closely.
Window ledges peeling, grass untrimmed,
a brickwork exhalation. Don’t tell me
not to mourn the Butler sink in the kitchen
where she lathered lavender soap
between my toes and her hands,
washing until the shadow of soil fell
from my skin.
Tonight we will sit without jackets,
feel the sunlight leave
rather than see it,
watch the fleeting silhouettes born
skyward from the trees
then settling, once again.

M. J. Arlett is an MFA candidate at Florida International University where she is the nonfiction editor for Gulf Stream Magazine. She was born in the UK, spent several years in Spain and now lives in Miami. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Lunch Ticket, Poet Lore, Mud Season Review, The Boiler Journal and elsewhere.