Poetry Day today. Once upon a time, this was my preferred writing form. Fun to return to old paths once in a while. Enjoy!
You didn’t want to, but
I just started twirling my ribbon, and you did
it. Because you had to.
How about my eyebrow
lifted, and you bent
your sword to my will. Taking
hostages but letting the women
and children go
How about you
stand over there and wait for me
to be ready. With my silk
imperialism and golden nails
We do something else. I’m
Some Things Stick
Why do some things stick in my head,
pushing others through the cracks between my neurons into the void
of the forgotten?
Revolutions of a tire swing, spinning pain into midnight crepes.
The bubbles of 7-Up forming on the ice cubes, damping the thick low-ball,
dripping into a halo on the marble table. “Where is your coaster?”
Sugar crystal egg – broken, pieces sticking to the mouth of my piano teacher’s daughter,
Things left undone crowd the things I forget to do. Words unsaid haunt the sentences
I mean to utter.
“You’ve changed. What is wrong,” I didn’t say.
Now, I check, far too often, clutching the thermometer of emotion:
Shake, insert, read, repeat – until the relationship bleeds, rotting
at the roots from over-watering.
“You forgot bake sale.” “Have you written that letter?” Tomatoes,
fallen from the truck of my brain.
Some things stick. Milky breath bubbling from rosy lips
in the lilac hours before dawn.
“Can I help you folks?” The badge peering over the embarrassed lip of the pickup.
“No, Officer. We were just watching the sunset.”
The tart ice of frozen lemonade failing to wake the dream of walking feet
and chirping phone.
And some things fall. Voices unheard languish in dusty cupboards, buried
beneath the unmatched socks.