Another Kind of Commute

When I have lost my way
in the day’s anxious maze,

I stop,

lie down
on the crowd of grass

& wait

for silence,
for thousands

of little green hands
to lift me up.

The blue sky fades.
Graceful blade by graceful blade,

they carry my body

open fields, riverbanks,
wooded plots.

I surf the green sea until
I feel the hug

of our own
clipped lawn.

I rise to my feet.
You open the red door, smiling,

the cat curled in your arms
like a child.

The sun is gone.
The table is set.

We don’t feel alone.

Grant Chemidlin is a queer writer and poet living in Los Angeles. He is the author of two collections of poetry, He Felt Unwell (So He Wrote This) and Things We Lost In The Swamp. He’s been a finalist for the Gival Press Oscar Wilde Award, the Philip Levine Prize for Poetry, and is currently pursuing an MFA at Antioch University Los Angeles. You can find more of his work on Instagram: @grantcpoetry.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.