NYC: You are wild, frenetic, spontaneous;
always surprising and challenging.
Those panic attacks I have when we’re together?
I feel better when I remember to look up.
Blue Skies
Tag Archives: writing
Wings
If we had wings, would we know how to fly?
Today…
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.
Grey areas
anxiety or anticipation
billigerence or benevolence
truth or lie—
sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference
Thoughts after the rain
Wet blades of grass, you wear the rain
like magic crystal balls in the sun.
Tell me, what is the future?
Rules
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
Words are like stones.
They can be thrown about recklessly,
sinking into black water with an
overwhelming sense of heavy regret.
Details
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
Blue Panasonic
On a small Ohio farm in the 1970’s, my cousins fixed Ford Mustangs in a musty old garage. A round blue transistor radio played a rock AM station while they worked and laughed and sometimes fought.
There was corn being grilled outside for dinner and bonfires burning bright on summer nights.
I shelled sweet peas in the yard with my great-grandmother and for every pea I’d throw into the bowl, three others were eaten.
There was long hair all around, a motorcycle buzzing and the James Gang playing softly in the background. There was a pool table in the basement and sometimes basketball was played on a tattered hoop.
The soft pillows on outdoor wicker had brown, orange and green squares.
A short time ago I walked into a dark, antique shop on a dusty city street and saw a radio gleaming on a shelf. Memories washed over me in huge, sheltering waves.
Sold.
Bella Donna
One of the best things in life is the love of an old dog.
spanishwoods 