Postcard from Texas

The plan was to get up early and go
listen to the waves’ shirr and eat shrimp
where the Gulf meets the beach at Galveston.

I braided my hair and assessed the line
of my short waist before filling a chest
with ice and bottled beer and fruit.

Then Jesse rushed past yelling, “Shut up!”
quarreling with his quarrelsome father,
who went to our room and lay down and slept.

Sleeping can be a truly quarrelsome act.
So, now the ice is melting in the cooler
and I am in the living room writing you.

Love, Saoirse.

About the author

Judy Swann is a born-again Venetian presently living in gorgeous Ithaca, NY. A working-class dancer, Judy's poetry has been published in Lilliput Review, Thema,…

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