Turning Thirty in Miami by Emily Patterson

Turning Thirty in Miami

Near Little Havana, we sat under black sky
and bougainvillea. It was December,

my birthday. It was red wine warm
in our palms, a burning in my belly

where a baby should be. It was bare feet
in the gravel garden, the dog next door

who slipped between the slats to sniff
our knees. In the morning, in the Everglades,

it was wild electric green, roaring rain
four miles out. It was watching miniature

frogs in puddles; counting gashes across
an alligator’s back; fighting the downpour

with arms closed, until we didn’t.
Until my hands released like a prayer

undone, cool water running over
like some kind of untamable hope.

by Emily Patterson

Instagram: @emilypattersonpoet

Editor’s Note: The images in this poem, though seemingly unconnected, fully describe the speaker’s life with just the right balance of yearning and joy and pain.


One response to “Turning Thirty in Miami by Emily Patterson”

  1. d.a.simpsonwriter Avatar

    Beautiful 💖

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