In Our Fifties

Our chartreuse-colored love

The ugly chair now, that we don’t wish to sit in or admit brought comfort, respite

Nor will we throw it away

We mourn it in the kitchen like a death
Seemingly forever, while surrounded with casseroles of comfort food brought to us by well-meaning “friends”

We watch it as an epic film of someone else’s life
Sitting in the dark, screaming at the screen, warning of their err, fall from grace, then trauma

We escape it with our wanderlust-filled travels near and far
Photographing nature, plus wild wildlife who in-turn, chase us as we sleep, pseudo-nightmares that wake us at 3am

We do this
You, there, and me, here

Silk and brocade-covered hardwood frames we were and we are
Camaraderie and adventure that was to have brought us peace
Closure to the aching

What color was it initially, before the fade, we ask ourselves over and over

What we know for certain — it was an heirloom love

Before the spit up and sweaty workaday clothes soiled it
Before the pained animals in us tore it to shreds
Before our childhood loneliness, unresolved, relegated us to our corners in our fifties — upper lips bloodied, both of us

Walking attachment disorders, detached by default, from each other
All in one, single day

Eventually, we go to the curb with this shredded chartreuse thing

Pack up and move far away

Looking from the rear-view mirror at what was, we draw others’ ire as we drive too-slow down that road

It is always dusty Summer in our hearts’ mind’s eye

Neutrals

What the taupe has taken
We spend day after day examining
Seeking some rose-gold undertones
Finding only frayed edges
Tarnished brass rings
Muted seasonless neutrals, at best

Calling all consultants
Fashionistas and friends
Feel in our stead
Cheerlead our heads
Bring in the gloss
Repurpose the lost

We Sleuth

Whether ink or lead
Or in aerosoled hue
I own thee, my friend
Placed my mark upon you

It’s your fault, inspirer
You’ve caused my daydream
Your borderless pages
From which you Love-scream

Never stop speaking
Such fanciful truth
I fight with you, write with you
Together we sleuth

(Original Thought Credit:
“Books make excellent companions.”
-James Howe)

Northward

What could I give the stars
The diligent ones
That peek through the thicket 
And sometimes seek me from within 
Lest all I’d see is the film of clouds 
Surrounding 
Drowning 

Would they want my voice 
Lifted
Lighting the way
Guiding the underground
Calling on the sleepless
To look, to sing
Then reach and walk

Baton

There’s neither pressure
Nor something to prove
What purpose the drum 
Why the brass, you ask

The warmth ‘neath your hand
Keeping most perfect time
The cool clarity 
Holds your crystalline mind

The team of the two
If they will become friends 
A life-force
That will deliver you