Holly Day

Sand

blissful memories of the sun in the middle of winter, the sun
beats down and makes me wish for umbrellas, blankets on
the sand, far from here where there is nothing but trees to break up the
endless grass and prairie. Cornfields
stretch faded yellow in all directions, how could this humiliation

ever feel like home? The sun
looks so different here, seems like it's turned on

much longer than back home, against the cool of the
ocean, against the backdrop of a field
of sand instead of dirty cows and dirty ditches too humiliating
to be called ponds. Back home, I would be covered in sunscreen, have my
bathing suit on
and no one would give me a second glance. Here, the

locals blush at naked arms and legs, avert their eyes to the fields
stretching sterile and unbroken to the horizon, humiliated
for me and my daring short-cut jeans. The sun
makes me feel dusty and dirty here, feels strange on
my skin, as though it's drying me out to match the

brittle orange straw flowers that lie flat at my feet.


Holly Day is a housewife and mother of two living in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Her poetry has recently appeared in The Oxford American, The Midwest Quarterly, and Coal City Review. She recently co-authored the book, Guitar All-in-One for Dummies, with guitarist Jim Peterik of the band Survivor.

 

Current Issue:
June 2011

Holly Day
Karen Kelsay
Don Kloss
Kayla McAuliffe
MaryAnn McCarra-Fitzpatrick
donnarkevic
Carson Nunnally
Sam Piccone
Christina Rau
Bill Roberts
Lucille Shulklapper
Jason Sturner

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