un/known
embarrassed by these
Schrodinger’s walnuts; three pound
bag, December-bought
is both rancid and not – ’til
courage is found to open
What do you do when
You order a cake
For a special anniversary, 36th
You pick it up
It’s all wrong
You can’t take it
But
It’s pretty
You know it tastes good
It’s our special day
We will not compromise
It’s not what I ordered
Keep the cake
Does it mean you won’t
Make it another year
No
It just means
I’m not paying
For someone else’s
Mistake
Walked away on a summer day
I stand in our field with cardinal flowers
holding fast to my skirt.
My mind’s in the clouds scudding across
the morpho-bright sky.
Grass rests soft, blurred into a Van Gogh
canvas by August’s heat.
Woods around the edges see through me—
firefly hair frizzing
in humidity, sunflower brain always hoping,
palm fingers grasping
at sunlight, mossy hips trudging slowly,
slowly under twilight’s
Kali-blue gaze, & rainy heart, moving toward
October’s cool curtain.
Biding time
In the nick of time
Running out of time
Plenty of time
Time to spare
Never enough time
Too much time
Time on my hands
Timeless
Time to go
Hard times
Free time
If there is time
What’s the time
On time
Time is money
Killing time
Crunch time
Time flies
A long time ago
Back in time
In no time
Go time
Time will tell
Time of my life!
Unraveling the Oneiromancy of Possibility:
From below the low-hanging oak branches,
I feel the pull of an invisible heaven
calling
our names.
Pay no attention to the man who carries
his father’s old thermos, or the blackbirds laughing
at the existence of no one in particular,
or the defiant tulips (blind and undivided),
waving in defiance of poor nutrition and
rot-dirt living, where the ground is waterlogged,
and leaves
wait
for decay.
There is marvelous peace,
a sign
of admirable sleep and willingness,
among the feral
innocence,
the flowers and pines, the diving sparrows, the
vacationing chipmunks that rest on, against,
stones
piled in every season…
The shadows that loom are no more
than the half-lit reflections of
a lonely death’s sourpuss
reasoning.
