Present Moment
by Teresa Middleton

Dog-eared pages of a romance novel mark

distractions, not disrespect. A garden hose hisses,

gurgling water into a plastic pool. A dog barks

in a neighbor's yard. Barefoot mothers make wishes

on dandelion spores, while daughters paint a zoo

in water color. Spider monkeys play in a banyan tree,

brown tails coiling into blurred branches. Two

armadillos explore blistered pink terrain. Zebras flee

from a pair of green eyes in high grass. Brush tips splay

and twist, blue corkscrews into clear white sky.

Marble rocks keep everything from blowing away.

Girls giggle, splashing like birds until pictures dry

in the sun. Dragonflies hover, witness every line

and curve, their iridescent bodies glisten and shine.