1971 green Ford Torino
Captain Kangaroo
The Michael Stanley Band
rootbeer floats
2:00 am walks to the diner
blues bars in Cleveland
eagles over Estes Park
2:00 am baby feedings
summer evenings at amusement parks
biking on bridges
cross-country trips
sunrise over the river
2:00 am quacking ducks
full moon reflections on the water
stacked, folded, softly molded,
scattered, filed, neatly piled,
stitched, mended, briskly tended
Here you are, tiny and delicate
waiting for the world to pick you.
Sweet little bud, open your heart
to the soft, bright sunshine
and soak up the raining morning light.
Remember the thrill of spinnning in circles
and the smell of the earth in the month of May?
Remember Christmas morning when you were 3
or the smell of funnel cakes and cotton candy at the fair?
Remember when the grown-ups remembered
and the stories seemed disconnected to your little life?
I heard someone once say,
“It’s not as if she’d let herself go,
we just don’t understand why he left.”
I wonder where she would have
gone if she’d really let herself go.
The rain falls steadily and silently.
With a liquid velvet touch
it rests on trees and brown grass,
kissing them gently back to life.
Your black eyes are black holes of maligned intentions.
While seemingly benign, poison reaches out towards the
innocently unsuspecting and renders them speechless.
I see you for who you are.
“Hello?”
“Hi Nancy, listen, I’m going to be in your neighborhood later today and was wondering if you needed anything at the store?”
“I’m sorry, you must have the wrong number.”
Click.
Actually, I had needed something at the store.
Tiny artful creature–
where are you now?
Let all negativity go–
let it fly high above you,
swim against the undertow,
crash onto ocean cliffs,
and fade beside a sharp salty wind.
spanishwoods 