I tried, I swear I tried
To stop loving the Blue Mountains you swept me away to
To stop seeing them through your grey-green eyes
I prayed endlessly
Extend your hand once more to me down those towered hiking trails
Let me see heaven in your saunter again
I allowed foreign kisses
Fill this Orion-shaped wound, I vowed — still I stand, hollow
Waiting for your fix, for our paths to merge as you promised
Miss, not by mistake
An alias alien
Junior to a joke
A Prisoner, I
Self-imposed, quite happily
Ever so content
*****
This white, gauzy space
These creatures roaming freely
Airiness abounds
*****
Singing hardwood floors
Turn-of-the-Century cell
A Caretaker, I
Sometimes pre-dawn feels like a SOS
An awakening, born out of distress
It is said back pain and a broken heart
Are the tools with which we turn life to art
If the angst you carry feels as though it’ll kill you
Then for certain, baby, morning holds your breakthrough
Jeweled, blue-sky morn’
This feels right, like vacation
Sunny work to do
Don’t be sad for my curves where there often aren’t
They feel fine on my long German bones
The Irish-ilked will in me fist-fights eternally
With my most straightforward Grecian nose
Would that it be soon my silvery strands, earned with my Norwegian blood
Make merry with my Polka feet
You’ve bored me
Made me headachy
Your hostility
Posing as humid tranquility
Asking here anonymously
What everyone else, unafraid to make themselves known
Already knows
But I answer thee
I’m still fit to garden and be poetry
Though you’ve pained me
A pain in my ass, a pain in my joints
Merely temporarily
Creeping, wrinkled, you’ll continue
Pettily
Green acres comin’
To this dustbowl, sure as hell
On holy lightning
Living must be
A constant cleaning of the crimes in the outermost corners of outbuildings on the back forty of whatever land we’re fortunate to shepherd
A diligent organizing of each and every backshelf, closet, drawer, and centerpiece of these blessed bodies of truth we call Home Sweet Home
An earnest sweeping of matter that ultimately, doesn’t matter, but made its way to the front stoop and attempted to exert squatter’s rights
An eventual Welcome sign placed humbly, breathlessly, on each door we’re otherwise prone to leave sealed up tight, that we would embrace again
Creation must be
LisaRosier.com 