Tunnel Vision

 

Shadows passing, swiftly

like weeds in the spring breeze

                 holding their breaths

       until April ends, 

maybe May.

I see fireflies casting light-

                                        dreams

to keep spirits alive

while we watch through sheer curtains

waiting to love again

                                and feel

the unity 

                  closer 

than six feet apart.

 

 

 

 

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Day 4 of NaPoMo (a poem a day in April for National Poetry Month)

Echoes

There’s a stillness in the atmosphere
fading blue when winds carry ache;
breaths held because we cannot
touch.
I sing my joy.
It echoes
from my heart to yours
when love bridges distance,

press in to words
like fingers on strings
of a well tuned instrument,
serenade them

until this all plays out.

.

.

Stifled

When February left,
it took my voice with it
and somewhere between then
and now,

I forgot how to write,

or just got tired.

March needs an umbrella
to cover the gloom;
catch tears from looming skies

and in this storm,
I almost forgot there’s a light;
arms to shelter me,
cover me

in the cleft of a rock.

.

Your Last Night With Us

That night, the stars
stole breath from trees,
lost sheen to a moon
full and now endless
without you here.

.

When She Brushed Her Hair

Grandma, her hair,
her sweet scent
when she kissed us goodnight;
rosary clutched in her hand.

.

Raining Stars

The morning after,
you fell aimlessly;
a shooting star
just before mourning
dawned

upon my newfound sadness.

.

To Those Who Never Knew About Me

Another night of missing winks;
restless muse kicking up dust,

peeking through misty windows
overgrown fern in the sill,
‘round the dinner table,
sunflower centerpiece,
tea cups, pinky up
rose colored perceptions of life
as you know it,

but through my eyes,
he looks so different
than the smiling admirer-
the celebrated confidant.

I smile for you,
praying you never see
the side he revealed to me
and that you keep those memories
closer
than the Polaroids
in my imagination,
slowly fading
each time I re-read his last letter.

.

On Sunday Afternoons

I remember the scent
of just-mowed grass
following grandpa,
tugging his shirt,

stepping carefully
beside grandma’s new violets.

.

Welcome Mat

I walked in,
inhibited,
[tag still attached]

but you
melted my heart
like my favorite psalm
read aloud, softly
before sleep.

.

Synopsis

Checked out
like a library book,
under-read, but overdue.
The plot thickens,
a story unfolds,

the author, too close
for comfort.

.

The Writer’s Dilemma

To sleep or not to sleep-
a question posed
with no simple answer;

this longing to compose.

.

Tree Songs

A new day dawns
upon your flowering,
clouds shade unmentionables
like initials we carved that Summer
to the sound of a river, ever flowing
in the beat of poetry,
in notebooks never read;
seasons that passed, undetected
except for the color of your remnants,
falling-
footsteps spreading your love.

Breezes pause

to the breath of nature,
to dew-kissed petals,
to birdsong mornings

and amorous afternoons
waiting patiently for Spring.

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