the plum

i have misunderstood

the plum

something so simple

something often overlooked

we feed each other slices

of sweet

ripe fruit

collecting the juice

with our tongues

and sucking out the flavor

from our lips

we taste both the fruit

and each other’s skin

this is our language

words don’t work for us

it feels primal

it feels perfect

this is all we want

sticky fingers and lips

and the pit we leave behind

silhouettes

the sky glows pink

a thin line of color appears on the horizon

it looks pale and soft

the trees stand as dark silhouettes

the humid air lingers around me

the heaviness is broken

a gentle breeze brushes past

it touches my skin softly

it is just a soft touch

hold on a moment

stay here through the night

stay

silhouettes begin to move

they move with grace

a thin strip of light appears

now, it is early dawn

stay here through the night

stay

one thin wisp of cloud

it’s midday.

i empty the used coffee grounds

from the press.

it’s too late now for

another cup.

i carry the

grinds to the compost;

walking barefoot through the grass

the air is thick with humidity

the lawn

feels damp underfoot.

i pause, gaze upward,

shielding my eyes

from the sun.

above me,

one thin wisp

of cloud.

it seems adrift, out of place.

can you see this?

wherever you are,

can you see this?

the shape of the cloud

is so feminine

in shape;

voluptuous, round,

gesturing in a way that is both crude

and shy way.

can you see this?

i feel out of place.

here in the yard,

on the grass soaked with humidity.

can you see me?

wherever you are,

can you see me?

i stand there until

the cloud

melts away into blue,

a rich blue,

a humid blue.

wherever you are,

can you see me?

​

somehow

These are fragments of life;
I’m not sure any of this makes sense;
Still, these pieces seem to fit together somehow.

Somehow.

And what of it?

How do we connect the dots?
All of this,
every bit of it!

We might call it life,
But how do we come to accept these pieces
And make them whole?

So what does it all mean?
What are we supposed to make of it?

Have you seen
My thinning hair?

I have too.
I know you’ve noticed.
And,
My wrinkles or my tired eyes?

“Ok, yes,
these are pieces.
I understand.”

Somehow,
We’ll keep insisting,
that somehow,

they all fit together.

 

 

sandcastles

children run along the shore,

their laughter heard over gentle waves.

they wade into the icy water,

unfazed by its sting.

their voices are full of energy

carried by the wind.

you can see joy in their eyes,

their innocence reminding us of something we once had.

when did that change?

when did we start to feel the ache in the air

and notice the cold settling inside us?

when did we pull back from the water

and touch it with cautious toes?

almost as if we are afraid of what it might remind us of.

when did we stop making sandcastles?

and forgiving the tide for washing them away.

when did we forget how to let ourselves get lost

in the quiet joy of pretending?

colors

My body holds memories.
I sense time slipping by
through my fingertips.
Sometimes I lie awake
and trace the lines
that reveal my story
in the thickness
of my gut.
or I wander in
my dreams
looking for colors
that belong to things
I’ve forgotten.

ink

i dreamed last night.

i couldn’t find my pen.

wait, that’s not quite right.

i didn’t really lose it.

it was just hiding from me.

that’s different.

i couldn’t write anything.

my fingers felt tangled.

and without it,

nothing made sense

at all.

maybe this sounds confusing.

but it isn’t.

in my dream, i woke up

and saw the pen

was in my bed, and it had burst

now i was covered

in thick ink

that flowed over my body

and eventually into my mouth.

when i tried to speak,

i gurgled

and jumbled

and tangled thoughts

spilled out of my mouth.