Ti(d)e

there is sustenance in the wind;
though you left
(your whole world)
shuttered & dank,
it still
feeds the storm —
b(r)e(w)ing.

Jiminy Cricket

and there you are, churning the soft earth
where we buried you
with all the dignity
we could muster

Jiminy Cricket wore your shoes for a while,
but your footsteps were too hard to follow —
so he missed a step &
got back on track,
for better or worse

I am sorry you are still lost —
but there is nothing left to say
when all the answers
are ash & bone
& broken, too.

Colorblind

a cardboard-boxed wish,
labeled ‘undaunted’,
next to blood-red pumps,
long faded to rust (& ruin)

the old days —
when her heart still thundered
& the tip of her tongue
suffered no regrets

now
she wonders
if her lips
ever tasted like him.

___________________________
… based on the poem Escapade

Inexplicable

sometimes I do not write about
the depth of my grandmother’s gaze,
the texture of wet sand beneath my feet,
or the way people weave through summer rain —

sometimes all I need to write about
is your murderous fart
and my fight for survival.

Dream A Little Dream

I rarely see the world’s golden glow
the way it is meant to be seen —
my eyes do not work that way
anymore

I see shadows play on asphalt &
sometimes a little light
shining through concrete cracks
while I do not rush the rush
& pretend to notice
all the colors.

– constant –