Pastures, Peaks, and Dolphins by Soph

// Mine //
I am from pickled pastures
biscuits n’ gravy for breakfast
Sunday morning bells
bouncing between the mountains.
Dogwood trees along the driveway
wrap branches around my waist,
catching me in
the fall flowers they shed.
I am from a house now emptied.
// His //
He is dirt dipping in fields,
creeks rushing through canyons,
soccer balls rebounded
off closed garage doors.
He is the mountain peak,
during the first sign of dusting,
reflecting down the 2,768 steps
to the city.
I crave to be,
his home,
our mountains merging.
// Ours //
In the bath,
I listen to a podcast
about dolphin communication
and think about when
he told me he wanted to learn
a new language.
I want to ask if he’ll learn dolphin with me
so only the ocean can
understand us when we speak.
Soph lives in the mountains, where she writes whenever she can. Her recent work can be found in WOW-Women on Writing, where she placed 3rd in the Q3 2021 Essay Contest, Anti-Heroin Chic, Entropy Magazine, and Phoebe Journal. One day, she hopes to run her own tea shop.