Exhausted
There has
never
been a
day
when I
haven’t felt
tired,
I hope
I hide it
well
when
someone
needs me.
Three kittens carousing
Mid morning
across my street
grey, striped and brown
while I drink my honey cream coffee
They jump big and four footed
and make me think of
the innocence of childhood
how quickly it goes
I think I should probably be the one
to take them and spay them
The mother is a kitten herself
Adorable
Rivaling The Kitten in cuteness
(But we would never tell her that)
Who am I to interfere in their lives
disrupt their playful innocence
But then there will be too many kittens
And whoever heard of such a thing
but it won’t be cute
Nothing came of the thought
Now, the yellowing orange streetlights
shine on trees down the hill
Mingling with the blues and pinks
and purples in the sky
Making pools on the street
appearing just above
a march of white clover
Still your playing makes my heart leap
and tears come to my eyes
for this moment and
this moment
and this moment
never ending
it was a half-empty
glass beside a limp magazine
in a room with weak light
it was the crumpled
nothing note
weighted in the present
measuring
that stretch of summer
and after it was over
it felt like
a sulfur midnight
on July
after all
of the violent blinding color
have gone
and all I had
was to feel the slow
pulse
that played out
the death
of summer
the morning smell
leaked through the a.c. vents
and sweetened fast-food coffee
coated our tongues
as interstate lights flashed by
the wispy clouds
passed by like smoke
as the mountains
laid dormant
and the trees
stayed in their slumber
slowly, the sun
joined the living
and our worries
came back, too
Humans are
more fragile than
we want to be.
The thought of our
mortality pressing
down on us
is too much,
especially
when it’s
invisible
to our naked eye.
We were scared
for a while
and followed
the rules,
sheltering in place,
quarantining,
washing our hands,
but grew
impatient
and indignant
like grounded
children.
So now
we rebel.
We decide
we’re invincible.
This can’t touch us.
At least the majority
of us jump head first
to this conclusion,
so the rest have
no choice
as we are
dragged along.
There are
infinite ways
to think about
something,
but we usually
latch on to the
one most familiar;
the one that
makes us happiest.
Instant gratification
seems to be the
overall favorite.
So, onward we go
down the path of
normalcy
with squared
shoulders
and set jaws
daring this virus
to be a real threat.
In smoky alto, she
rasps out a melody
so soft and sad,
that I don’t dare breathe
until the first line ends.
A gentle rhythm sways,
hypnotic and sweet,
also my hips,
to feel the motion
inside myself.
I hold this song
like a lover,
as if to make it
part of me.
I want to become
sound, color, texture,
my body, the palette,
my lungs hold the air
the trumpeter needs
for his next phrase.
My eyes close as he begins to play…….
The clouds cover the sun rising
From behind the mountains
But the blue and pink tones
Still peak through.
The fog decorates the top of the trees
Like icing on a cake,
The view may not be clear
But the sun is still rising,
As it will.
The rain drops are heavy on the leaves
But they leave a smell so reminiscent
In the morning air.
The rain may make you shiver
But it only take a minute
To brew a pot of coffee.
Take a seat on the porch,
Or walk up the mountain
And watch the sunrise,
No matter the conditions.
Because the sunrise starts our day
And we only have so much time
Until the sun sets, and we meet the moon.
And the sunrises in our lives
Are limited.
I rip my fake nails off, my natural nails break
I slip my rings off
I trace my palms
My hands look so much smaller
Now alone
A p a r t from yours
