I was immersed in an interesting dream when
I woke to a cold finger on my forehead,
images scattered,
fog on wind.
The second time in a single night,
summoned to swap wet sheets
and blankets for
dry bedding and
witness the small being
burrow deep
returning to her dreams,
a warm kiss planted on her brow.
The world is heavy.
Grief bleeds through media
and daily conversation.
Let me balance bad news
with hopefulness.
Make me a clown
showing others humor and beauty
in the mundane.
Make me an instrument of joy and
waft me on the wind
like dandelion fluff
to land far and near
spreading spores of love
wherever I alight.
Beneath the tree's shadow
two souls study the
grammar of desire.
They experiment with
lips and hands,
not thinking,
only feeling.
We, perched in topmost branches,
spread our wings and soar,
released at last.
Clara clatters down the hall, one heel on her battered shoes an eighth-inch shorter than the other, the rubber lift having worn off. Her blue and red dyed hair clashes with her traffic cone orange jacket, but she doesn’t care. She loves color and revels in visual cacophony.
She reaches her office door and bumps it hard with her hip as she turns the knob. Reluctant hinges grudgingly stutter the door to a partial open. She meant to fix that last week.
Clara pushes through and drops her sack lunch (today it’s egg salad on rye along with a side of mincemeat pie, dangerously close to expiration) on her desk. The floor is cluttered with boxes and files. The grimy high set windows allow the barest trace of sunlight through. Maybe next week she'd climb the rickety office ladder and take a swipe at them.
With a sigh she plops in her ancient, creaky office chair. Missing the bus had made her late for work. Again. At least there were no meetings today that she'd need to rush off to.
A knock on her door startles her and she swings her chair to the left, banging both legs in the process. She swears a blue streak as a head, topped by lustrous black hair above a handsome face and startling blue eyes, peeks past the door and into her domain. It is at this precise moment that the seat of her chair chooses to disengage from the bottom (the large screw that had come out yesterday sat atop her desk waiting for re-insertion), and she toppled backward, legs akimbo. Clara instantly and irrevocably regretting her decision to delay shopping for new undergarments.
Winter descends
decisive and bold
cold blowing and
candles lit to offset
shrinking daylight.
He is direct.
Spring, however, is capricious,
tantalizing and teasing with
tastes of warming temperatures
to tempt us from our dens.
But suns warming rays are fleeting
and daffodils suffer below
late snow blankets.
Last fall’s leaves and winter trash
rush across lawns to gather at fence lines,
hedgerows and roadside ditches.
She is a diva, constantly changing
her mind and guise.
She peeks from cloud covered skies,
curious how long we will wait.
sitting in the ED waiting room
listening to a family talk
dad and seizures
car trouble and repair mistakes
recipes and Hallmark channel movies.
I wait, alone, to find out
why my uncle’s leg has doubled in diameter
why he is in excruciating pain
why they can't give him the test he needs
And wish it was a car problem.
clear march sky
sun reflects off
settled snow
finches feed on seeds
and sing
opportunities abound
