I don’t know you
but I will
I’ll poke tired earth
dig beet roots
pinch pine bark
pull chickweed
lift stones
until I find you
like a penny
in a fresh-tilled garden
a lost marble
behind a toolshed
a book whose margins
were your only diary
pressed under a pillow
to dream me
into the world
I will find you
you don’t know me
but you will, you will
We rock in chairs on the front porch
Reciting our favorite memories
Laughing until our ribs cramp,
Summer started early this year
And it’s hot, no amount
Of sweet tea can cool us off
But we insist on sitting outside
Our bare feet tiptoe to not burn
My sundress allows slight circulation
And your unbuttoned shirt the same
The sunset a bright yellow glow
That lights up the entire field
We watch the bees dance around the marigolds
And the hummingbirds around the little red feeder
We converse about our next trip
Italy, Greece, or maybe Scotland
How we’ll explore during the day and
Dance through the night,
I never knew life could be so easy
i have lists and lists
of the things i want to write about
things that matter and things that don’t
i don’t know why my inspiration dissipated
but despite the lists
i feel i have nothing left to say
or maybe it’s fear that no one will listen
There are so many conveniences
that we take for granted
It takes going without something for a while
to help you realize how nice it is to have
Today, I sit in the dark writing because my electricity is out
Yes, I do miss being able to turn on the television,
Or go to the refrigerator for a snack,
but I can see the stars a bit brighter
And I can hear the laughter of the neighbor kids playing
It’s a sweet sound that is louder without the usual noise of life
This heat is under my skin snapping
like crispy grass under my feet,
sending puffs of dirt
swirling into the air,
particles glistening
in golden evening sun,
lingering in the thick atmosphere.
I tingle, electric pricking every pore
as clouds stack in the distance
growing darker, rumbling, waiting
until the wind picks up,
sweeping them forward
jolts of lightning across the sky
flashing, pulsing with my
goosebumps as the rain falls.
my queen, the brave knight, would bow
to the wise silver woman, spun in gold and white
once his lover, once his maiden, now his sovereign and mistress,
give me leave, he begged for her approval, to avenge you.
queen, she mused, i would be an excellent queen. not dark or cruel, and neither fair nor wise. i’d deny all men of their heart’s desires. as sweet as a song, and as beautiful as the dawn. stronger than all the trees combined, and more refined than any honey or wine. but terrible i would be to the nobility, for all shall love me, as the queen that never was.
rise, she reached down to him, my sweet knight, now she needed him determined,
not weak with love, nor blind by rage, she needed him as if she were more minor than now,
weaker than now, and less ambitious than now. i am not a queen, she reminded him,
only a woman with words you do not know.
she spoke wisely; she spoke womanly. he could almost fear her; if not, he remembered
her high-pitched laugh that only he heard in their moments alone.
he had seen her sorrow, mischief, laughter, and intellect,
but she had neglected to show her power. but
the rejection she led him reminded him of his body and hers over him.
he took her hand in his palm and, with her grace, rose to meet her eyes.
eyes light with silver and gold, justice and calmness,
he loved those eyes when they were laced with innocence,
but that had all disappeared from her the longer he remained by her side –
a fool he was to believe those eyes would remain as they once were,
now, they pour into him and beg him to lay down his sword,
and wait until she makes the earth right again, before him
before his men,
as it once was.
Let me live quietly within
Your dream’s hedonistic hands
In black and white pictures
In nuclear shadows and bibles
In a mother without a tongue
And you don’t have to tell me
About your nihilistic wishes
Of being the last two people
After the movie’s ended and
The bombs have all dropped
End credits and the lights off
In the desolation and sweet calm
We’ll be the wreckage, we’ll choose
Whether or not to quietly live on
Surviving on canned vegetables
In a vegetative state of mind
bare walls
I ponder how some lives
don’t encompass wallhangings
no art, photos, something, anything
just the walls, tuned to whatever color
someone chose to paint them
that life is not for me
