By Paige Dixon

morningtime has gold in its mouth 
mist before mine at sunrise 

a six-month old puppy is nations away 
while crows watch me walk to work. 

today we’re taking it easy 
she says, and I don’t know about easy— 

it’s dark here at night and easy 
comes from the seventies (or something) 

not to be found when I feel like  
there is no air to breathe: 

I’ve never taken it easy in my life. 
still, there are dolphins in the waves 

sometimes, and glittering rocks on the ground. 
in Isla Vista it’s broken glass, but still 

it sparkles, like the taste of ginger and 
maple, like the crystalized honey still in the spice 

cabinet. we still make tea and quesadillas at midnight 
and listen to the palm trees hitting the walls in the wind. 

I go to sleep in the dark, in cotton, 
in bamboo and feathers, in three pillows, still.  

Garden at Sunset by Janis Butler Holm

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Paige Dixon (she/her) is a recent graduate from the University of California, Santa Barbara, where she studied writing and literature. Her work explores the deepness of experience, the limitations of communication, and the concepts that shape our perceptions. She has previously been published in The Catalyst.

ABOUT THE ARTIST

Janis Butler Holm served as Associate Editor for Wide Angle, the film journal, and currently works as a writer and editor in sunny Los Angeles. Her prose, poems, art, and performance pieces have appeared in small-press, national, and international magazines. Her plays have been produced in the U.S., Canada, Russia, and the U.K.

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