Poetry by Nancy R. Yang
the rented house on the water
its iron statue of a horse on the lawn
and forget-me-nots scattered like glitter
the freeway in the distance is a white whir.
The ride in the car for barbecue, windows down
so everyone can see my face. Like the little boys
turning their faces up like dogs in the side mirror,
hair blowing like the wheat in fields we pass.
I’m king of the world! they yell to the wheat-growing sun,
reaching for a sweet morsel of childhood, grabbing
on to stay forever, warmth in me like an early hot flash,
the moment a taste of salt on my tongue—
it will pass quickly. The ride
back, the kids beg us to roll the windows down
again, we take the long route into the sunset. Fast!
the week will go by, the clothes I’ll fold will gather
again, arrange into the suitcase my curling iron.
Sometimes, people think
they’ll take the cotton candy and funnel cakes home,
recreate sugar so sweet in a sea of Tuesdays.
We’ll wave goodbye to the show jumping horse
on our way towards home we touch rust on the saddle of this day,
we see it spreading to its mane.
Nancy R. Yang is an educator and MFA candidate in creative writing at Pacific University. A long-time transplant to California, she grew up in Georgia and South Carolina, where her love of art was formed. Her poems have appeared in Poetry South, Willows Wept Review, and Aura Literary Arts Review, among others.