from a closed room
for a decade the blinking
of a soundboard
coming in and out
afraid to speak
i can’t hardly stand
to pass up a yard sale.
it pains me.
something deep down in my soul
tells me to stomp that brake
at the first sign of balloons
fluttering from a mailbox.
i can spot a piece of neon poster board
a half a mile away.
my eye has been well trained
Sat with my kids, my ex-husband, and my love
eating food they cooked–but not me–
under a half moon dancing with Jupiter.
Sixteen great hugs in one day, watching my grandson
go from wonder to frown to full out crying,
fireflies and the blessings of a life lived well.
I have a new standard for happiness.
King Louis’s severed head,
lifted high above the crowd,
that watered the furrows
of France’s fields.
Marie Antoinette stood by,
dishing out slices of cake
to the women
marching on Versailles,
armed with poleaxes and pikes.
at ten years old,
imprisoned in the Temple fortress,
The house was white
The sky was blue
The people were lost
The house was too.
It remembered how it was
Not too long ago
Regal, proud, historically
Tyranny’s great foe
But the people who were lost
led it here
Driven by hate,
consumed by fear.
It longed for the men of yesteryear.
It panged for the leaders before
Before it was lost and closed its doors.
The house, still white
That sky’s still blue
The hope remains
To itself be true.
Closing my eyes, all my curls wild in a topknot
still soaking my pillow with green tea and avocado,
gravity knits me as one with grey sheet fibers
and I know I couldn’t move now if I tried.
Toes don’t quite reach the end of this bed,
but that doesn’t stop calves from extending,
flexing, finally relaxing underneath the weight
of too much comforter in not enough breeze.
Arms wrap themselves -tight- around extra pillows,
the floral ones I bought to make it seem less roomy,
and it’ll probably take many more nights like this
to almost forget that the other side was for you.