Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Rest Stop-Colored feet

My feet hung out of the window, the bottoms reflected in the side mirror.  You could tell I had been walking barefoot at the rest stops.  My toes were painted purple with green and blue glitter on top.  The sun made them glimmer; made the polish look new.  My toe ring was dusty, but the sun managed to make that look new too.  We had been driving for hours fleeing the place I called Hell.  My eyes were wrinkled and jaded.  I stuck my head out the window and angled my face so that the sun’s rays would envelop me.  Maybe they could make me look new too.

Plastic Cup

The rain trickled down my window.  I watched it as I wept.  How indicative, I thought.  I got a plastic cup and went outside to have it filled.  What do your tears taste like? I asked as I set my cup down.  The wind became furious, hurled my cup into the sky and took it away.  My cup would never be filled.  How indicative, I thought.


In the moonlight you’ll look to toward the sky,
See empty stars and you’ll cry.
Cry for the things you’ve lost.
Cry for the ones you’ve lost love for.
The moon reflects your tears,
Makes you aware of their physical being.
Brings you back to life.
The moon does that sometimes.

Tail Lights

She watched the truck drive away
The trail of dust danced in the wind danced in the wind.
The brake lights flashed periodically and
Illuminated puffs of white sand that floated about the tires.
She stood at the end of the road holding her chest trying to scream.
She made no sound.
Her dog sat beside her, cocking his head side to side at the unusual sounds
Made by the rusty truck.
She stood there and waited until the truck was out of sight.
Until it was inaudible.
She waited until the love faded.
Then she went back inside.

My Mind's need to Naturalize

The roots of the tree rape the ground.
Strong bark penetrates the innocent soft soil
But the ground cannot move; cannot speak.
The ground bleeds and rises.
The tree never leaves.
The roots are not shown,
They are no longer visible.
But the tree grows tall nonetheless;
Its leaves falling, children falling.
The ground cannot hold them, cannot cradle them.
The tree is beautiful and majestic, nobody says otherwise.
But the ground in which it lays is unlevel and disgusting.
The deep shadow cast by the tree hides that from everyone
Until the tree becomes too tall
To see its own shadow.

Death Song

Lost in the trees among the forest and the leaves.
Come to me, come here I say.
You will not abide, you will not obey.

Drowning in the lake among the fishes and the snakes
Leave me be, don’t follow me, I say.
You will not abide, you will not obey.
Buried underground among the worms and the sounds
Let me die, let me rot, I say.
Finally you abide, finally you obey.


The wind will heave a sigh of relief, letting loose the tension it’s held all day.  When the dust settles and the sun knows it can be seen it will start a great descent.  But not without painting the sky first.  When an orange glaze occupies what used to be blue, the snakes will slither out of their holes and perch on rocks that are still warm from the sun’s touch.  The bats will flutter about, flying low to get water from puddles left by the previous night’s showers.  Families will mount bikes, dogs will wag uncontrollable tails at the end of a leash.  And for that time of day for about 20 minutes, my world is alive and beautiful.