Summer from my Bedside Window | By Katie-May Sayers
A rare cloud comes into view.
Birds swoop in and out of frame,
wings cutting through
a pollen-soaked breeze.
I crack open the window,
fingers tangling with air ripples,
fill my nose with tickles,
flood my lungs with fresh spring.
I breathe calm and deep,
until an incoming buzz
boops the glass with a bump,
a baffled blur of black-yellow fuzz.
I miss that feeling in the country,
of walking barefoot on grass,
where the day creeps slow
into a night light and crisp.
I want to lean out into the dark,
peel through watermarked glass,
and drink the inky ichor in drops,
that make the sky so blue and vast.
Katie-May Sayers is a Creative Writing and English Literature Graduate that has previously been an editor for Pandora's Inbox.