by Émilie Galindo

The blue bite of mild mornings always churn childhood chimes

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The blue bite of mild mornings always churn childhood chimes /  accompanied by a flashback-brewing harp: some August morning / grandparents around / one of them pepper roosters would drain our bubble & balmy beds out /& bread-or-brioche-crumb lead us to breakfast al fresco / setting our senses aflame / we’d whine & they’d try to rub the goosebumps away / I’d wrap my hands around the amber bowl hot chocolate / I’d focus on the patches of sun-stroked skin / colour spilled over & spun the garden out of its dewy dreams / tangerine-stroked skin / the blue bite tasted like my grandparents’ throat soothing pastilles / those snow white eucalyptus octagons / bringing us back to wind chime charred goosebumps.

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© Émilie Galindo

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Émilie Galindo (she/her) is a Phoebe kind of person. She’s also a Dylanologist and counterculture sixties history buff, she tends to dip her quill in the quite diverse, if cabalistic, cultural well of that time period.

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