Poetry
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The winter sky is white As the milky waters of Lethe. The stark clouds blend into a horizon: No beginning and no end, Like oblivion. The impervious sky, The impersonal snow, Blur the lines of heaven and earth. A void without warmth. A void without memory. A void without emotion. Only the bliss of nothingness.
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The cold moon rises in a lifeless sky. Silver as the winter, Bright as a midnight sun, Shattering the darkness. Snow illuminates the landscape. A reflection of a reflection, A false dawn? Or heaven’s mercy on an endless night?
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Silence. Muffled, echoing voices singing yuletide songs. Silence. Smothered, trodding footsteps in the light crunch of snow. Silence. Dimmed, crackling flickers of a soft grated flame. Silence. Measured, rhythmic turning of a well worn page. Silence. Hushed, intimate whispers of a loved one’s voice. Silence. Stilled, passing time in the winter frozen world.
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There’s so many thoughts I cannot put into words. Sometimes the struggle is in finding an original way to express thoughts already spoken: the happiness of a bright sunflower in the summer, the melancholy of toy in the rain, the butterflies in the stomach and heart in your throat for nerves. We know what to…
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In a quiet little town-close enough to the coast to look for seaglass in summer. Is a cozy little house-close enough to the woods to watch the leaves change in fall. With a few good neighbors-close enough to share baked goods and gossip in winter. Who sit around a fire-close enough to imagine the warmth…
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My mind is a bowl of alphabet soup. A mess of mental health diagnoses- reach in and pull out a spoonful. Arrange the letters to guess the imbalance that keeps me in vertigo a single cooling blow and I dive into the bowl.
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I am a woman- not just a womb. I can create with my love, but also create with my hands. I can build, and grow, and shape, and make; I am prolific as the Earth. I am a woman- not just a potential mother. I have a heart full of love. And I do love…
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The storm covered much of the country- a last cry of clinging winter. Snow lighted on half-bloomed buds and winds shook the branches of the cherry tree until soft petals and snowflakes danced together toward the ground.
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It’s not about the stupid tattoo. Just like it wasn’t about the party he skipped, or the ranch he never took me to, or the Valentines date he let his best friend crash. It isn’t about the birthday left uncelebrated, or the coffee dates I arranged, or the parties I planned, hosted and cleaned up…
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I had a dream last night. A terror, a nightmare, vision, or just a dream. A dream about him, about me, about us, and about her- She is always a subcurrent in such dreams. In my dream, we were standing face-to-face. For the first time in 4 years, we were together. Even in my dreams…
Bringing Mae Flowers 