Saturday 9:35:05 AM

“Saturday 9:35:05 AM” was inspired by one of those tiny moments of micro-flirtation that I think give spice to life, no matter how happily married or how old we are.

 

“It’s been so nice talking with you.” said the father with the bandana at the pool, “You have a great day.” and as I looked back from my kids, we slipped the timeline and I dove into his eyes.

Into a green space, emerald-shining, soft as down and feathers everywhere. Sneeze-laughter. His crows’ feet turned out to be warm valleys where we rolled down, down, coming to rest, feeling the live earth-flesh breathe beneath our backs.

Spooned together like custard, creamy-sweet, we drowsed. Woke to voices of new-familiar children, not his or mine but ours. Watched them play at lakeside, mountains of lush pine beyond.

Drank the blue air. Knew that never would there be a cell phone tower there. His hands pillowed my hips, our heart/throat/bellies entwined, beating.

His millions of cell membranes shimmered, iridescent coral lapis gold, pulsing out a signal. “I am here, I am here, though you don’t see me I will always hold you.” “You, too.” I said.

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Kimberly Gladman Jackson is the author of Materfamilias (Tandeta Books, 2018) and Tesseract (Finishing Line Press, 2016).
You can connect with her on her website.

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