I Will Die at the Right Time
At this rate, there will be nothing left for my children. Too much
falling outside the body. A two-headed llama with no head
belonging to me.
all to them
unintentionally by them
Losing ability to see value by which aging matters. Watching
bone-slow deterioration. Using my frame to anchor relations.
Trying to deduce life’s meaning–endgame research.
Sowing seeds of pain in backward gardens planted with wrinkling flesh,
falling from porous skeletons.
fire, grace, motion, lightning
without remorse from each sunrise.
The silver-edge moon no longer sensual,
goading their last warm breaths.
Not doing this to my flesh and blood.
I will die at the right time.
acrylic painting done a few years ago
Raven Hall Pool
She tells me childhood stories as pool water laps our mouths. Her words grow flippers and soar to the steel beams above. A lifeguard duo with prismatic baby blues. Cerulean so clear, their angular faces disappear beneath water. Both brothers displaying the rock-hard swagger of overtaxed muscles. Gluteus sauntering along Raven Hall’s perimeter causes much chlorinated gulping. Mouth-to-mouth the prize.
I understand water is the best place for many reasons. Below the surface you imagine heaven. This pool is old. Its white edges gray. The ceiling is missing a few tiles where words can get trapped. If the roof spoke, it would have a lisp. Yet the water sparkles like her stories. Here all are weightless. I’m thankful the world is mostly water. In salt-aqua things older than the universe continue on. I’m sure she cherished Raven Hall Pool for the same reason. And those lifeguard brothers. She dated the younger and was infatuated with the older. Not difficult imagining two handsome lifeguards all the way down to their bulging confidence. And her first kiss.
The water temperature is perfect. Never over-chlorinated. I keep my eyes open while swimming beneath. No goggles or cap, not ready for those. When we lift our legs up the steel rungs, it’s with grateful exhaustion. Until the next time. And there will be more swimming sessions. Many more I pray. To hear stories and watch her words grow flippers. This pool is worn, but in the underwater silences a dream makes its best escape. The world is mostly water. Imagine, all those words swimming to the sky.
ghosted background photo you see is my gorgeous mother showing off that movie star smile of hers!❤️
5 am peaceful
wishing it were contented spirits
dusting the cement grass with glitter
not winter’s freeze
my dachshund’s paw prints
sweet as a postcard
one might send a faraway lover
I linger in the numbing quiet
let the moment warm this blanketed silence
hushed low like swimming beneath water
where despair drowns then floats away
in bubbles and dancing reflections
don’t want to twist the frozen doorknob
and go back inside
I’d love to remain out here
with the sparkling dust
and all that glitters
in the beauty of this silence
when the world is so peaceful
drawn a few years back with watercolor marker, acrylic, and a dab of prisma pencil
we weren’t destined to meet
a black bottle, a few flowery touches and
cold cubes that mimicked hot dice
rolled a bet with just enough scratch
for a room with bad lighting
our frantic hands
stripped away more than labels
our hungry mouths
fashioned words on stained cotton
our entwined legs
beat on dark motel velvet
but a new day’s integrity
revealed our imperfect forms
stale breath buried any lingering hopes
you were in it for the quick sale
I was in it for the everlasting bargain
we were at best
a performance piece
with no curtain call
to be a queen
of the night
is far better
to be a princess
by the day
to be happy
is far better
to be a mismatched
to be warm
is far better
to be cold
Queen Waiting created today while waiting in a waiting room