An hour, now, clutching the cold morning coffee, an acrid-filled, comfortless cup.
Still dark.
Consumed, we, with what’s bearing down at the door — bellowing “more, more, and more!”
Its roar.
Will this new blanket be warm enough, this day sustain hope beyond the front-porch light?
Windows fogged.
Still, dawn’s bright, there, without, meets a heat — long-stored and stoked — here, within.
We Begin.
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….
Keep the hope, you must
Kind-hearted people told me
Now thus, I bid you
Our finest hour
And, Goddamn it, lift your voice
Shriek to me from out of the grey
It has been six years and six months to the day
Set aside your pen
Unpoison your wellspring
Harmonize with me
End the endless justification of silence
Of the dark
Lived lives trump safe lives
Remember?
A going has to come, I know
An acquiescence to the shortened days
A refusing to refuse the night
I’ll clothe myself in skin-tone colors
I will stop hearing creation’s groan silenced
I’ll start feeling good, acting great, again
Original Thought Credit: Nina Simone, “Feeling Good”
Don’t slam shut the door
Do not creak it closed slowly
Midnight is not yet
Because broken hearts
And gardening’s proof of hope
And tea makes all well
Sweet plum
Summer’s crown jewel
Ripened
Smiling, still
Though ghosted
Chipped away at
Hollowed out
Cut in two
Bitten off, but not spit out
For I remain
Saucy
Thus, your favorite fruit
I remember temperatures
Made me rise to you
Every opportunity
I leaned in to melt
Never swept the sun away
I bid it come closer
That I would rain down
Begged it then to burn me
Condense and then confine me
Maybe we were clouded
But I couldn’t care
I wanted to be near you
In your lofty air
A Cardinal, spying from the pow’r lines by my kitchen window, acts tempestuously
As if he cannot resist me
Truth be told, I’m fond of him, too
Remarkable as he is — less a vivid red than most, and volume missing in the tufts of his shaggy cone
I know the migration he’s been through, and he needs that
Unafraid to ask, I say, “What is it you want?”
His response…be still, my heart!
I won’t betray his confidence, but we see eye-to-eye
It’s the reason he finds himself landing in my backyard peach tree at every possible opportunity
Poking around in the Echinacea, for calm
Glad I give him refuge, I leave open the door
Talking with him like this, leaves me wanting more
LisaRosier.com 