Were I to wear cowgirl boots on New Year’s Eve’
Would they walk me to your shine?
Were you to spin 70’s tunes on your record player
Would your dancin’ feet meet mine?
What did you wish for on your birthday without me
A shared path for us to find?
What I begged of the Ghost of Christmas Past
A machine to turn back time….
Wounded child
Not a man
Far too old, you play
Absent fingers
Hollow heart
Empty end of day
Highschool sweetheart
Dead to me
You abused my grace
One word for you:
Therapy.
Father-wound to trace
Dearest Wanderlust:
Until the day that I die,
I will fight for you.
Ended as it began
These dark days of November through January
Dancing in digital
Parallel and alone
Yet in analog, earnestly asking
Feigning a truth on behalf of some good cause
Forgiveness follows now, as it must
Lest Winter become as liquid courage
That most dangerous thing
Giv’n The Universe
There seems more to us than this
Maybe this is that
“I feel a small fire….”
She says, in sing-song slang.
God knows, she’s afire.
As a Director:
Action! For words in This realm
Are not currency
I take my leave from those who gaze, idly
Or avert their eyes, altogether
Onward, Ho! To teach!
To share air — and indeed, to breathe!
For I can only learn and grow
Alongside those who will take their turn
Do their worst, and make such noise
To right the wrongs with waves of change
As the Goodness Ocean must
LisaRosier.com 