The air is cooling, a torrent of nostalgia and hope, disconsolate breaths, echoes of sighs and whispers. Touch the velvet decadence of sumach, the curled, browned beauty of dessicated Queen Anne’s lace, the teasels and burrs in their sculptural perfection. Yellows appear, a million wistful browns, but also fiery reds, fervent burgundies, thick and saturated as garnets and wine. The skies observe impassively, so often colourless now in their lush showcase of greys. Spring gets…
The orchid in flower, neglected just enough. (Hold tight to this mystery.) My cardigan is grey, plain envelope, a containment. Goodbyes still rend me: unwelcome art, unacquired skill. As a child I clung at bedtime, wanting someone beside me. For years, I wrote ‘each other’ as one word. Change is constant and partings inevitable, wrenching and severing part of our travels. But I weep at their leavings, these astonishing creatures, huge, sprung from my body.…
If not for failure, there’d be more moonshots. Too much at stake, the child must wait Til the cards align themselves. Progress stale like bread exposed to air For days on end. Begins to Mold Herself in the image of someone she was told Means something to this world. In prayer stance, seeking a chance to start Over- Coming learning what was supposed to be The answers, reversed to an abomination of A predisposed righteous…
Your Dirty Hands left marks on me. And when I wash them off My own stains are revealed to me. My insecurities are like a red wine stain On a white summer dress Hard to look at My shame, dirtier Like the stains on my sweatpants thrown in the back of my closet Dirtier, is my Anxiety You can smell it from two blocks down Ripe as the oversized -used to be white- t-shirt that…