If we had wings, would we know how to fly?
I want to be the buckle on my shoe
or a yellow mum in the vase by the table.
I want to melt into one of the stripes on foreign
fabric and live happily surrounded by the other
woven colors without a care in the world.
anxiety or anticipation
billigerence or benevolence
truth or lie—
sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference
Wet blades of grass, you wear the rain
like magic crystal balls in the sun.
Tell me, what is the future?
Rules are written in stone or on signs,
depicted by symbols, suggested in elegant script.
Rules are followed, revered and questioned.
I have often chosen to break them,
although occassionally they come in handy.
Words are like stones.
They can be thrown about recklessly,
sinking into black water with an
overwhelming sense of heavy regret.
the laugh lines around your eyes
paisley designs on my blue bandana
artful buttons and scraps of lace
candles burning in frosted glass jars
red raspberries on the kitchen counter