delta sheets

I find a safe place,
a warm place, free space
confined from the clutter of a day
in a day. A space
with white lace
and Billie Holiday
and Kate Chopin’s case
and the kaleidoscope of Julys
in open air, on the planks of a dock
over warm water
or dusty piano keys;
and far away trumpets sway lazy
around clothes lines,
crickets and white cottons
and dirty feet
and sweating iced tea and wet lilacs.
A safe place in my mind
when I can’t find it here
I transform the world
around me
from a little room or car
or street or yard;
the heavy things—I have to set
them down
until I’ve slept and breathed
and forgotten,
at least for awhile,
until I pick it up and pick it away
and diminish it
to the weight of paper.