Summer Primer
My mother inventing a puddle
pours two delicate teaspoons worth of water
onto dry desert sand panting with thirst.
She explains how primer absorbed
so quickly by wood means there is no need for paint
of a lesser color lest paint be wasted thrown away.
I will not look directly in her eyes
but can sense my mother’s lingering glance
ease knowingly back to the pale.
And with the first drop of grey stone primer
spilled on old-pipe silver garage flooring
on a hot summer June day in Clear Lake, Texas,
two plain pebbles from Albuquerque
thrown by my three-year-old daughter eight years prior
at an overhead Houston-Hobby bound aircraft
crash in a puddle priming July.
Copyright © Phillip Garcia | Year Posted 2019
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