CoffeeShop Blues: 2015 Traveler's Edition - Page 97

Jeremy Frost Hibiscus I open a window and a bouquet of early evening drifts in, the shrill screams of happy kids faking fear as they run and coyly fall on summer grass, soft, scented with the spice of a hot July day like their warm, brown-skinned mothers, eyes soft and deep as the southern nights they left. They sing the music of those faraway lands in fat-voweled words, all cadence and rhythm, they dim their reds and greens to the subtle shades of northern lights, gather their children close in arms that smell of sun and flowers, rich like the earth they blossomed from. 97