august morning by Albert Garcia

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august morning by Albert Garcia

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âPark Benchâ by Albert Garcia
Albert Garcia, âAugust Morningâ [ID in alt text]
Albert Garcia // "August Morning"

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
How do I start this day, I who am unsure of how my life has happened or how to proceed amid this warm and steady sweetness?
â Albert Garcia, from âAugust Morning,â Skunk Talk
INTERSTATE 5
Trucks roll down I-5, trailers full of tomatoes. Almost always theyâll spill a few as they round a corner,
hard, small fruit bouncing over asphalt, a bright scattering of red
on the roadâs shoulder of star thistle and tarweed. Maybe you left the house
angry over an argument with your wife, words in the air like a whining fan belt. Maybe
youâre headed down the freeway because itâs the fastest way out of town and youâre suddenly sick
of the same streets and just have to drive to something new. Youâre in your car, mind dulled by the flatness of rice fields,
their green monotony, when somewhere in your visionâs periphery a pheasant coasts over the road
almost hitting the big rig in front of you. The trucker taps his breaks and it happens: spilling, filling your view,
tomatoes bouncing around your car in a flash of color so sudden you wonder if this is real
or if itâs something else thatâs made your pulse quicken, your grip tighten on the wheel. In the rearview
you see them roll onto the shoulderâs hot gravel, and you canât help itâ you keep glancing in the mirror,
feeling lucky, wanting to say something though no one is sitting beside you, and you drive
until the small red dots are gone and the road bends into the dreary gray grove of olives.
ALBERT GARCIA
Here, take this palmful of raspberries as my gift. It isnât much but weâve often said our needs are simple, some quiet time alone on the patio in the cool morning, coffee, a few words over the newspaper. Iâve rinsed these berries so you can tumble them right into your cereal, one minute on the vine, the next in your bowl, my hand to your mouth.
â Albert Garcia, from âOffering,â in How to Love the World: Poems of Gratitude and Hope