sareya taylor 

i like to lay in my bed and dream. lay my head in the red hues of this humanity and dream of something softer. my soft days are days with you and me. mine are days when the lights are out in my house and we watch movies in separate rooms but together. when my sister sleeps late and has her head on my stomach. my dad is making breakfast and my brothers curl into my hair. driving around the world with arlita listening to those old songs. in green, jaycie presses our foreheads together and we reminisce. on soft days, i think about how warm grandma mae’s house always is. watching clouds stretch themselves out and colten brings me a water bottle. i lay in the purple hues of the name “rita” and think of her tortilla hands. on soft days, i'm in the living room. trying on a campdress my auntie made, and i’m told to move my arms around. the sky is pink and orange. rose is throwing nickel-sized snowballs and the trees are mimicking her. soft days mean making hot chocolate with karen and sleeping on lorissa’s floor. there is the gentle smell of cedar and wet earth that stalks around. i listen to harris burnette and frank ocean while holding my hands. soft days are when my dad is singing peyote songs and peeling potatoes. garfield is asleep and sylvester is looking outside. my mom tells me lemon gossip while i lay on her bed and watch brandan paint. my soft days are juneberries and watching jj play baseball. in the back seat of laverne’s car and sharing coffee on cold mornings. texts to and from friends whose love is reciprocated and feeling dirt on my palms. cooking with austin and getting out frozen berries for juju.i think about poems to write and the bridge my papa helped build. my soft days are scarce but plentiful- and my cherry hands and cherry heart are always full.