butterfly lenses, in the The Paragon Journal – a thoughtful, artful, and lovely publication
this poem is based on a true childhood experience.
the first time I ever saw live crabs boiled I was with a friend’s family down the shore.
I was shocked when the crabs we were fishin’ out of the ocean were not bright red
this was the first and only time in my life I ever became homesick
“my mom and dad would never boil live creatures,” is what was running through my eleven-year-old mind
(cover and image belongs to Paragon Journal – I added cover blurb for WP image)
Upstairs, in the furthest corner of the house–in a bedroom larger than it has the right to be–the walls are slathered in lullaby-warm, dusky peach.
The winter blanket I sleep beneath matches this room perfectly.
On the far side of the room, an antique reading lamp casts a mellow ochre light beneath its hat of threadbare tassels.
Late at night, in the silence of a tired soul, I tuck below awaiting the fantasy of summer warmth.
My body slides from twitching toes to sweating skull cap, then I melt into the walls.
I am lullaby-warm, dusky peach.
It is here I unabashedly linger between chalk sheetrock and stunted two-by-fours.
I know well the reason I place my heart within this breathless structure.
The awareness of my soul painted into the latex is my acknowledgement of one simple truth:
Living in these walls is the only way I will ever provide shelter for my children.
Max and Caroline
claim what we want
this is our will
build, create, engineer, refine
spectacular minds ceaseless in dialogues
questioning this universe and beyond
we place ourselves above all living organisms
pontificate our supremacy
other occupiers require too much space
our supernatural right as leaders
take what we desire
force them into boxes
into dead holes
onto ragged patches
perhaps it is we
who are on the bottom
we who have always been the lowly
we who belong in the corners
if all beasts possessed our human capacity
for thought and reason
they might also destroy
the very home they hunt and graze upon
only those with grand intellectual mindsets
can perpetrate the killing of this planet
art previously published – Prisma on construction paper
the warm door sweeps across the holiday welcome mat
light spills out the snow-stained windows onto the walkway
it’s cold in the dark
gazing back over her small shoulder
familiar laughter escapes the dried glass seals
happy voices are chimes in the wind
tender images tuck into the deep pockets of her travel coat
the warm door gently closes behind
moonlit bells accompany her slippered feet
she walks above the snow
her thin, petite hands glide into her bulging pockets
caressing the beautiful memories
she slips away into the night
as the walkway disappears
this post was previously published last year for my Aunt Nina (my Godmother and namesake-Ann)
it has been edited quite a bit this evening, I hope for the better this second time around
she would have turned 83 this Saturday and dancing sweetly on her cake
I hope all the folks along the Atlantic coast, especially FL are spared catastrophic damage as Matthew strengthens
Was it so long ago four little feet shuffled up the silent, curving driveway? The trees were especially kind that summer day as they cooled your bright bodies. Filtered sunlight painted dappled patches on your skin. You held your brother’s hand. Your brother held tight both your hand and his blue, plastic golf club. Our Shepherd guarded you both as if you were her own pups.
But as fast as the leaves left the trees, you both grew. Your feet wandering off that silent driveway and onto other travelled roads. Today, tomorrow or wherever your paths take you, keep in your hearts that dappled day when the sun was warm and the light was cool and we had a picnic lunch on the soft green grass…
How quickly the young gallop away…
Thank you and goodnight. May you count your blessings instead of sheep this night…
Have a beautiful weekend. 🙂
Delicate daughter and big son taken 2002 at our old house in the woods, zebras rendered in Prisma 2008