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, –
i am the lizard
i am great Houdini
[my old lizard poem I once hated, but
changed my mind. submitted to Real Toads,
NaPoWriMo & Poetic Asides]
It is as if I am forever looking through a mirror, dimly lit, seeing only half of my reflection. The ‘now’ is the ‘not yet.’ The ‘not yet,’ lives in the now. How else can I describe this life of muted colors, smells, textures, and sounds I put up with? I know there is more than even the deafening ocean breaking its sticks over stones. I am hopeful I will not remain dry. I am hopeful that someday I will not languish. I will not anguish over the browns which settle into champagne flutes. I imagine there will be citrine yellow, optimal pinks, violet lavender eyes; imperial swimming pool skies. There is more on the other side of this mirror. There is a who.
look in the mirror and
long for more than broken glass~
loiter here beyond