By the Bayou
You turned up the music until we became
porous and leaked into each other,
in your car, by the bayou.
It was all sound and heat,
one of those nights the earth breathes,
and skin is all you need; potent
heard again and again.
I’m sure you don’t know
that when that song plays now,
I pause. Not for sentimentality,
no, too small. But instead
for what it is like to feel
something so large and infinite
that I cannot touch it.
Valerie Westmark graduated from Samford University with a concentration in creative writing. She currently adores the work of Mary Oliver & Rainer Maria Rilke and often wonders if she has consumed too much hot tea. Her poetry has been published in numerous journals and she is the current recipient of the 2016 Lower Mississippi Riverkeeper Award from the Door is A Jar Magazine.