The temperature today is above one hundred
degrees. The horizon is a hot violet
while I pack the car
to take my children to the ocean.
The freeway will be full
of other riders.
I will see trees by the side of the road
waving their cobalt hands,
like wives holding dead soldiers’ navy suits
at an afternoon funeral.
The sky will have a sad face.
Some lucky stars will hide in an indigo memory.
I will get to my destination, but the beach
parking lot will be closed in a cage.
The water will be a dirty teal.
I will try to put the car in reverse.
Natalie Marino is a poet and physician. Her work appears in Atlas and Alice, Gigantic Sequins, Isele Magazine, Plainsongs, Pleiades, Rust + Moth, The Shore, and elsewhere. Her chapbook, Under Memories of Stars, is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press (June 2023). She lives in California.