You Look an Awful Lot Like a Poet to Me

Fat Tomato Summer 006

“Forgive us. Our mouths are full of tomatoes.”

Tomatoes by Joy Sullivan (from Instructions for Traveling West)

Take that as a gorgeous line of poetry¹, which it certainly is, and as a disclaimer. I’m keeping this week’s note short and sweet.

I’m spending a few days in NC with my beloved Emily.² In fact, I’m typing this from the wee loft of the magnificent coffee shop/book shop dream combo in her town, where she sits typing next to me. This morning we rolled out of bed and met up on her back patio with our hot drinks and our lukewarm takes and before we knew it, hours had passed and we were still in our jammies.

NC dusk. Is that tiny bird a poem? Or a poet?

For the next two days we will cram in as much summer sun as possible. Split the seams. Flood the streets. That’s what I say.

What I really need to know is, have you found time this summer to sit braless in the morning shade-slant with a bestie? Have you noticed the way gobbling up the hours together magically makes them expand and evaporate?³