that's mrs. mediocrity to you

you didn’t have to sing me that song,
there were others who could carry that tune.

you didn’t have to open doors and whisper secrets,
i could have done that on my own.

you didn’t have to turn sideways in the mirror,
i could see your reflection, laughing.

you didn’t have to leak bright bits of sunshine,
they were there, in my forest, before you.

but still, i opened you just like a book
and read each word of your story.

you didn’t have to have such
a sad ending.

i would have loved you,
just the same.

An afternoon that swallows time. Even when I beg, there is
no more. Deadlines and desideritas, my life.

I take myself too seriously. Ponder things that can’t be solved. Worship silence and sanctuary when there is none. Too many moments pass while I stare out my window.

A garden that grows without me. A tale that was not true.
A mystery that has no answer. My life.

A series of situations. A corner that keeps my secrets. A broom
that sweeps almost nothing clean. My life.

Some days overwhelm me. Some days wait to be taken.
Some days sing songs that only I can hear. Some days I sit on
the floor and weep. This is not my imagination.

A forest that leaves light unspoken. A tree that whispers platitudes. A fern that grows in shadow. My life.

A sunbeam filled with dancers. A teardrop left unclaimed.
A glimpse of mediocrity. My life.

Dreams that claim my sleep the way lovers claim their hearts.
Things I cannot have lined up before me. Things I do not want
stand next in line.

A comfort that eludes me. A melody of words that have no tune.
A signature I do not recognize. My life.

A smile on my lips, of strawberries and wine.

A summer day that does not end.

I stand here, waiting.

The days are long,

the nights stretch,

and I whisper

as I walk into the sunset.

My heart has wings,

my soul has dreams,

the forest is my home.

Again.

red poppies make me think of blood
they pop off the landscape like pinwheels

green is earth’s favorite color

i am in the mood for popcorn

this moment won’t last

i have been sitting here forever

the hawk that just flew over my head, he is the one,
the one i was supposed to be watching for

a blue chair in my garden is reflecting

white cottonwood falls like snow

today is the perfect temperature

i am surrounded by roses
they have thorns
their scent is cloying
they are beautiful

weeds taunt me and i ignore them

the woodpile directly before me is
the black walnut tree from my parents

when i was a kid we made
necklaces from horse chestnuts
i always cut my palm
boring holes through them with a knife

the necklaces lasted for a day
we spent the whole day before that
making them

silence is not golden it is purple

fireflies are faeries in disguise

i am 47
i would prefer
to be 39

my skin is so dry

i like a tree with gnarled branches

i like the word gnarled

this moment is for the birds

a chickadee

life

It is hot, so hot, way too hot for May, I want to go out and play,
in the sun, in my garden, and work up a really good sweat.

I want the sun to be sauna, cleanse my body, my soul, I want
to bake til I’m done to perfection.

I want to outlast the flowers that wilt in this heat, stand up tall, stretch my arms, drink the light.

I want to fill an old jar with cold lemonade, tip my head, let it run down my chin.

I want to veer off a path filled with trillium and fronds, find a spot that is dappled with shade.

I want to stand in the middle of life’s endless road and watch heat shimmer up from the pavement.

I want to pull up a chair when dusk comes to call and listen to birds say goodnight.

I want to feel the cool grass beneath my bare feet and watch as the fireflies frolic.

I want to count the planets, say their names one by one, and call them home like children.

I want to howl at the moon just because it is there and and seems to be begging for silence.

I want to lay down my head, sleep the sleep of the dead, when my body just aches with exhaustion.

I want to wake in the morning with sun in my eyes, all shadow removed from the room.

It is hot, so hot, way too hot for May,

I want to walk to the edge of the ocean.

though it would be
if i could offer
you, accept

but instead

it sits here, in my lap
licking wounds
no one asked for

and you,
you turn away
muttering, a whisper

crazy half grin

i never hear
what you say
never ask twice

if i do

there is no answer
just silence that hangs
the air between us

ripe

the way change
rips through your face
just a thought

unspoken