&what light can do, –
revealing just how much of
a sequined party is going on,
when all i can do is pass
unauthorized green veins,
pink husks invisibly through it
–heartbreak hands never
quite catching the light;
stirring the catalogued years
of wheat fields waving.
gold is the color i taste.
for Twiglet & Real Toads
three women used their phone app
to find Lois of Clovis
who was in over her head
with more than a child or five (or six?)
how had those golden thread heads dissolved
like Splenda packs in lukewarm water? just
where did they go, and where are they now?
now Lois was lost in her haystack house
with a sugar lump melting on her hip,
a vacuum cord ominously threatening to stop her
should she try to open the front door,
say “this is it.” “come in.”
Lois bit her lower lip,
and the three friends immediately came in.
one woman lit to the kitchen, started running
hot water, adding gleeful soap suds.
one woman’s hands began skillfully
folding tiny clothes and undersized underwear
careful to separate picture books from zippered pajamas.
one woman knelt on the toy room floor
separating Mr. Potato Head’s limbs and lips
from a smattering of what was labeled this-n-that.
and the three women loved her.
and Lois of Clovis fed her sugar baby
while the two little walking bumble bears
robed, disrobed, giggled and hid their winsome smiles
beneath plastic woven laundry baskets.
and all at once, when everyone saw the haystack was re-moved
that the floor was clean, – well, their gumption exploded
into pink, blue and green party balloons!
and Lois of Clovis, -awake, sleepy, anxious, stunned,
was changed, –
for Quickly & Real Toads
“But all the magic I have known
I’ve had to make myself.” – Shel Silverstein
i’ve had to lace up
many a pair of shoes
with holes in the toes
lilac purple stains
on both sides
on days i’ve needed magic
(quartz, &poppy face guaranteed)
i’ve got shoes
i’m not afraid of getting hole-y
so if you’re not afraid too,
in your shoe,
– i know because i’ve seen
old dogs on hind legs drinking
from the old silver horse trough
sparkling with rainwater
playing it again for RT
i’m a maker and it’s wonderful
(in short) setting words on a string
as a passionate something
even the ducks say,
“stop (your) soaking,
let’s waddle around.”
the sky is going everywhere
today in archetypal fashion
hackneyed and quintessential
all at the same spastic time
it’s outside of office windows
reminding all girl Fridays
whose shackles are getting
deliriously looser & looser
that it’s time to pull out
their wings, – those little light
saviors tucked into small purses
where no one thought they’d fit
for Poetic Asides
The Allbritten man comes twice a year.
He rings the doorbell, slips cotton
booties over his no name shoes,
and hands me a generic white business card
in a polite, quiet whisper. Within minutes
I covertly begin questioning his assertive cologne.
I mean what service man needs to smell as
conspicuous as a brook singing in a summer wood?
I am certainly insane, and deeply inhale.
Exactly what sort of a woman do you think I am?
The air waits for me, thank you very much,
until after I sign contractual paperwork,
– until after his flimsies come off, – and he’s
gone. I smell the apropos air-conditioning man.
for Real Toads
Today is Ash Wednesday and the sun is out.
Does anyone else think this is out-of-line?
Instead of looking at what I need to let go of,
I pencil in ‘Caribbean wild rice’ on the menu.
or a lot!
we can eat
but we do
and sip ’em
She is my daughter of adventure…not of brevity!
Mackenzie has journaled (or should I say catalogued) her first week abroad on her bloggy
Pop over if you’d like!