White Gloves

Yesterday a katydid was keeping me company
on the patio when a praying mantis snatched it.
That must be why my dreams are scary—
I’m afraid the clock might run out while I’m enjoying
the sun, and suddenly it’s dark black with no
leftover green bits of summer.

Time, like a butler in white gloves doesn’t care
if I’m katydid gentle or if my bite doesn’t hurt.
Last night I dreamed he brushed sand
off his fingers, and suddenly I was filled with a fear
of the dark. Then I watched him exit with a murmur
of sun in his eye.

*

Mary Sesso is a retired nurse who lives in Bethesda, MD with her dog, Beau. Her latest work appeared in Lock Raven Review, Cardinal Sins and Cutbank Literary Review. She’s the author of 2 chapbooks, The Open Window and Her Hair Plays With Fire.