Peach Ice Cream
by Kay D. Weeks

After rain, I left footprints in deep grass
while you listened to click-clack memories of passing trains,
and nothing short of a call to chocolate ice cream
could rouse us from our magical park!
We were as soaring birds,
keenly awake after a long summer's sleep.

What if I were to eavesdrop on your sleep?
Would I feel the dampness of grass?
Did I mistake the cheep-cheep sound of small birds
for a miniature north-bound train?
And did that idyllic first garden/park
Include a vendor who was selling apple ice cream?

I, for one, could skip other flavors, but not peach ice cream,
although the caloric content might prod me from sleep.
Life is not whether to drive, but where to park.
We chose green and peace, that gracious grass
and asked that we could hear soft soul trains.
Oh, bliss! Ocean's roar and wheeling birds!

Where did you fly last night as a wild bird?
Did you sail low over the land of ice cream?
At some point in the day, I sound like a grumbling train,
but that usually disappears into deep rhythms in sleep.
Come, please, all, let's lie down on the cool grass
and the world may well become a peaceful park.

Reality: Where should we park?
I'd like to be able to enjoy the bird.
And you say you want to walk in that wet grass.
So, how about here? Ah, that spiritual parlor—ice cream!
At home, I see the beach streets in my sleep,
And at Rehoboth Beach, imagine magical trains.

The long skirt that glides is called a "bridal train,"
and a lovely, sweet, and long-lasting garden is a park.
What do you dream about when you're sleeping?
Are the birds on tip-toe, dancing?
Those crispy cones, hugging their friends, chanting "ice cream,"
and we're as ONE on the sea-green grass.

Do you hear the magical sounds of night trains, or of birds?
I can imagine cats playing in the park, licking fish ice cream!
In sleep, we can go anywhere; I'm walking in wet grass.

Poetry Prompts:
***About the Sestina: Ariella chose the words trains and ice cream;
Lisa chose grass and park; and I chose birds and sleep.

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