Neon Pink

There was a sweatshirt I wore
on my twelfth birthday
neon pink with white lips like kiss prints
splattered recklessly across the front
I have a picture of that day
when I put it on brand new and so cool
all the brighter for never having been washed
the color reflected the blush of youthful hope
onto my make-up free cheeks

I was all smiles as I looked forward
to a blindingly bright future
as John Taylor's wife
how proud he would be
to be married to the world's most famous
veterinarian/fashion designer
who couldn't make the tour with him
because she was too busy starring
in the film version of her miraculous life

The sunset tonight reminds me of that sweatshirt
the electric fuchsia speckled with clouds
like white lips kissing the sky
wrapping me in the cottoning warmth
of those long forgotten dreams
protecting me from the blue chill
of forty on the horizon
like the ocean swallowing the sun

The white lips whisper
there is time, there is still time
Project Runway is open to all ages
John Taylor has just joined Twitter
and neon pink is cool again

Impossible Things

I want to live an African Elephant life
A Himalayan Mountain life
A Giant Sequoia life
A life so Large you can't wrap your head
or your arms around it
A life that can't be grasped
even by two hands
I want to live a life so Tall
you need an oxygen tank to climb
or a ladder on top of a Giant crane
on top of a skyscraper to reach
I want to live an Empire State Building life
An Eiffel Tower life
I want to live so Big they can't fit me
in a box when I die
They'll have to intern me in a Legend
so I can ride into the sunset
on the back of Babe the Blue Ox
And when night falls
I'll take archery lessons from Orion himself
piercing the stars with my Mighty arrows

i want to live a hummingbird life
a wee green clover life
a spot on the wing of a lady bug life
a life so tiny you can put it under your tongue
and dissolve it until all of the molecules
flow through your body
a life that gets under your nails
that can be folded up and placed in the breast pocket
of a nice suit like a colorful hankie
i want to live an eyelash on the cheek life
a single pink petal life
an eskimo kiss life
a life so small that my greatest achievement
is a well bloomed rose bush
and when i die even a mint tin
will be too big for me
they'll have to put me on a leaf
so i can float down river like a newborn dragonfly
sun warming my wet wings
and when night falls
i'll take flight on a jasmine scented breeze
reflecting the stars in my ink drop eyes

I want to live a Both-And life not an either-or life
an inconceivable, improbable, unreasonable life
because the impractical dreams and impossible things
are the only ones worth Living (and dying) for

Amazing Grace

Grace whispers in a shaft of sunlight
entreats the rain to fall
turns the seasons
raises the stem
releases the delicate fragrance
and opens each rose
in its own time
you can not pry the petals loose
no matter how well-intentioned
if you work harder
you will only crush the bloom
no machine may unravel
the millennia of mystery
contained in a single bud
the petals must soften
deep inside the flower first
stretching forth from its heart
with an exuberantly painted shout
you can not make the coiled blossom bloom
you may only bear witness to its brilliant birth
and be amazed

The Bubble Maker

The marine layer descends

shrouding my neighborhood

in a cool grey silence

befitting my mood

while my body goes through

the agonizing detox of hormones

it had ramped up production of

just six weeks ago

The cramping has mostly subsided

but still physical activity

is a great chore

as it seems my body used up

half of its energy creating a life

and the other half rejecting it

The dogs are pretty oblivious

to all of it - the chill in the air

the quiet, the emptiness

they only know

that there are bushes to be sniffed

and trees to be peed on

and so expect their usual walk

I don't even brush my hair

After their business is done

I turn back for the house

but my youngest pup pulls me forward

his attention drawn

to something down the block

A lone bubble

with no source in sight

carried on a breeze

down a deserted street

bobbing along the sidewalk

iridescent colors swirling

The object is so foreign

the young pup can't decide

if he should chase it or eat it

and so stands mesmerized

until the old dog and I catch up

and the three of us stand still

contemplating the curiosity

It is an unexpected wonder

to encounter the unexplainable

popping up on the dullest of days

When it collides with a brick wall

and disappears into a small sprinkle

of tiny dots on the driveway

the grace of the moment lingers

and I am filled with gratitude

knowing the bubble maker

is still out there somewhere

Black cat on a sunny day

Anyone who has seen a black cat
curled tightly in a window on a sunny day
knows there is a multitude of colors
contained in even the most caliginous of fur
each onyx follicle bursts into iridescence
like a moonbow over Cumberland Falls
against an inky velvet night sky
A reminder that the intricate dance
of light and dark creates a beauty
neither could generate on its own
and while white rejects every red and purple
that tries to pierce its puritanical heart
black gathers all the colors in tight
dependant on the full spectrum to survive

Grace and Peanuts

Packing peanuts from an overturned box
are scattered across the busy street
blown by the crosswinds of passing cars
creating a twinkling tinkling sound
like snow falling on wind chimes
the white Styrofoam tumbleweeds
dotting the cold black asphalt
emit intermittent cracks and pops
as the wheels of fate flatten an unlucky few
funny how the protectors have so little ability
to protect themselves from the crushing blows
of unfulfilled destiny and oncoming traffic
but oh how the newly animated herd
mesmerizes in its final moments
gracefully dancing outside the box

Legacy

Closing my eyes I try to see
visions painted on the backs
of my apricot eyelids
some hoped for image
of what life will be
in twenty
thirty
fifty years, if we're lucky
you with wavy white hair
me silently looking out
over the isle Yeats loved
nothing more to prove
nothing more to say
with my books on shelves
and verses in hearts
young dreamers dreaming
of growing into their wrinkles
sitting in this very chair
crying as I cried
over Alcott's desk
or with palm pressed
upon Frost's kitchen table
hoping somehow inspiration
will seep through like osmosis
words soaking into cells
wisdom circling round
building layer upon layer
like a great spiralled shell
let's make our house in it
just two side-stepping crabs
leaving trails in the sand
under the linnet's wings
beating out chords of grace
legacy of purple waters
washing over quiet shores
and a snowy wood
now warm, now green