The Church Rings Every Hour—May 2019

Accompanying noise recording to listen to while reading poem.
Voice recording of author reciting poem.

Sweet south drenched peach finger summer.

But it never was like that, was it? Walked

past the yoga studio for the fourth time

this week bent back over the pavement

kissed the ground for the people

who floated here before. And did they

not know whose name whipped through

trees, traveled through every dog

bark, and every art festival. The Gobble

Jog kicked dust to December and I forgot

what I told myself I was going to do. Take

pictures of the grass and pray to the dirt

hoping a bubble would appear. Carry voice

past the antique shops. Let it dust teacups.