on this day of raindrops on our lips
wishing on vanishing rainbows
you told me you were happy it was gone
cause it demanded too much attention
but its departure left me useless
I’ll miss the purple clouds
and the pelicans floating
the horizon and the nodding sun
I’ll miss this feeling
that I don’t want to leave
once they removed their monstrous
parasols and offered the sun with all its
glory, I was able to see for miles,
see past the stains and all its gory.
walk past my long-limbed friends,
feel their gentle boughs crack upon me
wonder if that west window still
offers the view of diamonds and trees.
then without time to think, to blink,
they decide my time in the warmth
is done. parade their parasols atop
of me – flaunt like they won. close my
eyes quick and capture the burn, bid
the orange blaze to stain my gaze for days
weep over how much I’ll miss the sun.
it’s like torn glances
encouraging words unspoken
walking away when the other
is begging to stay
it’s the turn of the head
when you are about to look my way
it’s the absence in the air
it’s not giving a care
this gloom we dish out
it’s hardly fair
this must be what the seas of Greece look like,
so blue it looks white
the water so deceiving
this must be what normal feels like,
so chill it’s like sleep
the peace I hear it leaving
this must be what perfection tastes like,
so fake it seems real
the day it leaves me grieving
it’s freaking me out
this business of growing old
wanting my face to remain like stone
staying calm with one hand
resting over the other
waiting and tending to
this business of growing old
it wasn’t the look of confusion you saw in her eyes
it was the look of fear
for even the cattle know when death is coming for them
much like those hyenas at my door again
coming to torment me, even though
I left them a feast at the table
patrol about and contort their ravaged mouths
causing me to flee, much like when I run
from him when he turns savage
but this time I remain, to open the door
to his frantic moans and pained eyes
whisper to calm my heart while his brain loses control
seize him into my mending arms until his terror has passed
then kick the hyenas aside
to walk my son back to his dreams
watched you burn our mouths with gooey, orange
marshmallows; the sting made us close our eyes.
cringing, watched you sprinkle Tang on the floor.
it stuck to my feet as i envisioned
so many bangs; my dumb brain felt the heat.
watched the smoke rise above the green buds with
pink tips while rubbing my arms; damn arms felt
whipped. watched you tear through my muscles just like
they were cotton. watched you forget all the
sweet words i spoke; good life, it’s forgotten.
dreamt my life was leaving last night.
panic threw itself on top on me – crushing my breath.
soul escaped my fingertips, fled from my
O shaped mouth; much like what he likes to draw,
minus the teeth, minus the red.
dreamt my life left me; flat like a sheet, empty like a shell.
it was tired of being anemic and pale.
motionless, I watched it walk away.
tried to scream, plead for it to come back,
but my cold mouth froze up, still shaped like an O.
felt the wind rush over me one last time.
instantly made me regret that I had to go.
you felt too much once,
feel too much still.
his pain was your pain,
like his pain is my pain,
now and always will.
you cried too much once,
cry too much still.
with hearts crumbling,
we loved too much,
once and always will.
A few days ago she held the branches like a parasol – shielding her face from the heat she once loved, lived for even. This same woman used to plant her face against the icy window on a February afternoon – just to sense its glow. Close her eyes and envision the red. Remember the way grass felt under her bare feet – lick her lips recollecting the smell of water leaving a garden hose. Mutter under her breath, wishing winter to leave – she was sick of seeing dead leaves.
This woman now settled in the place of perpetual summer – feels the all too familiar chill to her bones. She puts on extra layers while the lizards lie like statues at her feet. Watches the hawks bounce on the January winds and forget that she is driving. Digs out her grandmother’s quilt from her closet (the quilt of pale random squares, playful tufts of thread, and white downy backing), and she will remember the sweet dreams of her youth.
Winter found its way to her, and she just wants to be warm again; be happy again. She wants to remember what hopes brought her to the land of palms. Stop cursing the march of time. Mutter under her breath, and wish winter to leave – she was sick of certain memories. Be grateful that her winter really isn’t winter; except for right now.