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.