The Book and I

Name what it’s called when you cannot help but

Address each and every creature and the

City of emotions that washes over you, leaving you in a

State of awe? And, for those who feel

Zip? What do you call them?

Dear Mister

Dear Mister 
My man
As I draft the morrow’s lesson plan

Will you allow me
To stand 
At the sink
Wishing not to let them sink
A grapefruit breakfast in my hand
Juice and seeds dripping 

Will you be thankful
To stand 
At the ready 
Wishing not to leave me there
A lone wolf come dinner time 
Howls and echoes looming

Dear Mister
My man 
As you make your lifelong plan

What Trust

Is there a reason not to do this?

Is there a reason not to tear out my mind, haul it to sea, throw it to the deep?

What right has it had to do the same to my heart?

Day after day, year after year.

May it be my mission.

I see no reason not to do this. 

*Writing Prompt: Short, Autobiographical Story*

“Aqua Is My Learning Color”

I don’t remember much about Before except for all of it. And there was much good there…playing school, playing house, playing Lisa. But there was always the wishing…for calm, for kindness, for a Spanish guitar. 

The time came, as it always, always will: Make a choice. Choose open eyes. Desire trust, peace and hope over only wishing. 

The sting of tears comes more often than I’d thought it could. Learning does also. Learning to trust oneself and learning that peace is always present for the taking and giving. And Hope – the damned, beautiful Thing – it’s all I’m made of and it refuses to leave or be rationalized away. 

I saw prettiness today. Its name is Lisa. Its name is Everywhere. And I sent for The guitar. Somehow water was involved.