Posts for June 11, 2024 (page 10)

This morning, I wake up, and I put on some chapstick,
Twelve flavors, three colors,
Some people wake up and choose between life and death
But my hardest decision this morning is what chapstick to wear,
I’m wearing bright colors, so a bright flavor,
I’m not going out, so not a color –
Unless, perhaps, that color would motivate me to be productive –
Oh no, but that’s silly,
I can’t believe this is my hardest decision today,
What about my flavor of coffee?
Nope – made by the time I awake – cinnamon, 
My outfit?
Planned the night before – flawless,
All I have to choose is my chapstick,

This evening, I’ll get in a car and drive,
I have no destination, I go where they tell me,
But this morning, I apply cherry chapstick,
The packaging matches the red on my shirt,
And the scent complements the sun outside,
Decision made, onto the next.

There’s a war on, you know?

So my schooling as an artist, well,

It isn’t in much demand right now

from the galleries and rich folk.

For better or worse, you know?

Painting plyboard pays the rent,

and to be honest, I like it a lot,

this working with people, and the sun.

The ladies I paint? Surrealism, you know?

Nobody could live as skinny as them,

all flesh and bone, waist so tiny,

you’d think her spine would be fatter.

We’re not starving here — look at me —

but I had this dream last night, women and children and men, dying in dirty camps,

like animals. When? Why? I don’t know.

(after the unattributed 1940 photograph, “Decorating the hoardings on the shattered shopfronts of Oxford Street, London”)

picking raspberries
a tiny snake I did touch
I will name him Bob

“And im like huh weird i always feel like im just floating around in a soup of people”

On a July moring 
Along a wooded path,
Silver sreams 
Of summer light
Filtered through 
Deep green
oak
maple
popular
leaves
Danced
Across my head and shoulders 
Upon my back
With temporary shadow patterns
like freshly woven spider webs
Casting invisible delicate imprints 
Of those who had passed–

Last night’s sun-hemmed clouds
recalled my sister’s topographical
globe, the Sierra Nevada a bumpy

brown ridge to run your finger down.
It was what I knew of the world.
Do I know much more today, though

sunsets like yesterday’s now bring
a sigh, a pause, a wondering of how
many more I will see, how many

more the Sierra Nevada will see
and an inkling of which question
is more important?

Not the harvest moon
prompting my husband

to ask for my hand
to dance in front yard

but this big full moon
who shines opposite

across the pond
causing me to fling

open plantation shutters
when I fill bathtub

with lavender salts
to offer my body

glowing as I
focus on receiving

light I need
in darkness

praying for lunar
cleansing and forgiveness

as I silence voices
echoing taunts I imagine,

wishing for peace
alone in a bathtub

stringing lines
into verse

This old house
has forgotten 
how it felt to be 
freshly painted
with shiny copper pipes
free of drafts, sealed tight 
no cracks in the plaster
fissures in the mortar
gaps in the hardwood floor

but

This old house
remembers
how to amplify laughter
absorb tears
ward off nightmares
welcome friends
invite lovers to linger
keep secrets
and detect lies.

This old house
has seen better days
but still knows precisely
how to be a home.

time enough
to listen to a joke
senior center

I long for things I don’t have
I stare at greener grass
I wonder what it would be like

Then I take a deep breath and remember
Remember the sun shining
Remember my purpose
Remember

“One day”, I tell myself
“One day”, I repeat over and over

But for now I work
I make steps in the right direction
I try

And then maybe, just maybe
One day my grass will be emerald to someone else.