Eyes Closed

It’s raining and I find myself
listening to the wipers mechanical sound
As they shift back and forth across the glass
and marveling at the cast
the stoplight’s glow leaves on the road
Green means go
and so I drive knowing this way
will never lead to your heart
yellow, pause take stock and
grip the wheel I know the red light’s coming
stop or go?
Hit the gas…we all want what we can’t have
even when it means we might not make it through
T-boned in the intersection
it’s possible
Knowing this still
I careen recklessly forward
slick roads and all
Eyes closed

Flames catch all

I thought
and truly there is nothing
I would dash to rescue in the flames
my heart is intact
my hands can write
my eyes can fall on those I love
my arms can wrap around them
my mind is alive with joy and memories
brighter than the fire
and hotter still…
knowing this, I’d stand and watch
as the flames catch all

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Burning Down the House.”

Home soil rain

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Free Association.”

I’m beginning to realize
how comfortably your fingers
twine with mine
hands like home
linger, mingle
such warmth I haven’t felt
a simple acceptance of me
with all my faults and alarming tendencies
that soil my beauty queen persona
we are simple together, you and me
we bring no complication
easy as the weather
sunshine, rain
and just as predictable
meaning, not at all
you have become my safety
my calm

Slumber

The frozen tears of winter fall
as white from clouds of gray
and coat the sleeping forest paths
before the break of day

A contrast ‘twixt the glistening bright
and trees to which it clings
give stark reminder of this life
and sadness that it brings

But in the silence of the wood
let not your heart despair
for not in death, but only sleep
does joy yet still breathe there

One summer

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Easy Fix.”

There was a girl, who met a boy
One summer day, by a country club pool
he was awkward and silly
and had a nervous way of chewing his fingers
that somehow endeared him to her, even in his tattered jeans
He was
not her usual “type”
but he had an easy way about him that
chained her
So every day after, when she visited the pool
while her father played 18 holes with his colleagues on the green
and her mother met with the wives in the tea room for brunch
she would look for him in the crowd of oxford shirts
and not finding him, feel her world suddenly fold in on itself
For you see, the day she met him, her world had suddenly and inexplicably opened up
and all at once, the sun shined through the clouds she only kept at bay with
precise concentration on her ivy league dreams and
painstakingly ordered way of life
her wall of protection he’d managed to scale with a coy smile
so she searched and prayed
and just as the summertime sun was beginning to fade
and along with it, her hopes
he was there
And all was right with the world.

Flight delay

birds don’t carry baggage
they leave it behind
and fly
perhaps that’s why we’re so different
because we carry with us
a pebble here, a twig there
baggage that bleeds
but never gets lighter
and keeps us earthbound
helplessly flapping
with our eyes skyward
exhausted by heavy weight
but still seeking ourselves
in the treetops
we are only sure to reach
if we let go