Lady-speak
Call her unkind, the Collie
Barking at the neighbor lady painting her garage in her pajamas
But, may I translate?
“You there, Sis,” (it’s how the cool girls talk)
“Good morning, and for God’s sake, how long’s it been? How many seasons, since you thought to come out here and throw some color around? Those Days you were gone didn’t deserve you…paintbrush and passion put away.”
Given the dog’s sixth/sense, she knew what the lady’d replied, “un-aloud.”
“First of all, it has been cold, and my hands were shaking. And, countenance and confidence shattered, how could I breathe, much less beautify?”
“And secondly…?” The pooch -amused- persisted.
“Secondly,” the artist offered, “those Days that did not deserve me? Like rungs of a ladder, under my feet they are now. Nevertheless, here am I, despite the cold. Good day, Collie.”
Walking away, back to shade’s solace, the canine’s congratulatory caution, “What, with your whimsy and will, and wonder and wit, the cold may try steal you the morrow.”
Aftermath
Morningtime
Eyes afresh
Gloominess
Gone away
Rise and shine
Sing with me
Happy days
Here again
Bona Fide
All I ask of authenticity, as I swirl it across my palette
Simply this: Stop tasting as nostalgia might
Some genteel trip down memory lane
A life my children cannot revel in having once lived
Become balanced again, more perfect in this place
Tannins, stripped away
Smooth-sweetness, shine through
Impress me
Raspberries: A Haiku
The pain, unending
The suffering, optional
Even still, the pain….
Mama’s Sick: A Haiku
Such is pretending
You sing to me in secret
How you want my hand
Dame
This eye in the sky watching
Always cheering
Chasing
Some beauty it never plans to catch
Smiles, therefore
Without any hesitancy and evidence
Of braces or trammels of old
You’ll see
High: A Haiku
A warm rain afire
and a single note wafting
be my mountain high.
Good Guy
Ode to the bastard, or the cunning, if you will
Blame the constructively or actually absent father, the sons-of-empathyless-bitches must
And blame you too
You were late with their meal, or delivered it differently than what they’d had in mind but hadn’t shared aloud
Or had shared aloud, then in silent switched
Oh, heart-breaker, home-wrecker, save…SAVE your own life
Sell this soul as your own
Permission to abandon ship, grant thyself
Empty arms now jocular and free
Original Thought Credit: “You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should’ve behaved better.” -Anne Lamott
Freediver
Do I want your drink of water
Quenching my hard-earned oddities
Drowning the flame and heat of me
Dampening the hue of my hair
And this heart
Do I want your white-washing
Pretending away this good graffiti
Covering evidence of my depth
Ameliorating (ha!) my helping you see
Different is beautiful, too
Do I?
…and reflections, tending to reveal truths