Sun on My Back Holler from a distance hhh-ear the voice’s elastic echo stretch for the sun as long as lungs expand and hang pregnant belly howling, beckoning forehead throbbing sweat shining like HoneyCrisp apples, the savory juices of summertime. It’s the hunger to roam, stratospheric air simmers down into the soil, the deeper into the dwindling night worn shoes stumble. Breathe in grass with exhausted feet, exhale through the ears, forests have elderly eyes and reaching limbs like a grandparent letting you in, listen to crickets tapping like trumpets, lured by starlit steps luminescent lines and glowing symmetry, you may lose grip and slip into the sticky tar of darkness, a dead, starless sky of absence, an itch to stop is swatted on the neck, senseles clock, the sun’s brimming face setting into bed, not settling, still rolling ember down a naked back like a golden robe unfolding new specks, now you cease digging arduously holes in the head. Crickets hop and frogs croak, singing to you the nursery rhyme cycles of day without nebulous haze as they ride steady rhythms, you listen to their circadian songs on the moonstruck road rubble between rubber and as for the sun, she is a rebel with good intentions on the run and it’s only a matter of time until she comes back around.
Maria Kornacki graduated from Eastern Michigan University with a BA in Creative Writing. Her work has been featured in Sonder Midwest, Local Wolves, Remington Review, and Genre: Urban Arts No.8 Print. She’s working on the manuscript for her first poetry book.