A series of limerick poems and drawings about a noseContinue reading “Nose’s Off Day”
Love Letter to my Cat
To my Juliet.
With a soft paw stroking my neck,
you whisper your arrival,
wide-eyed and attentive to my movements
as I slowly bat my eyes open.
You are a shape so familiar to me,
a fluffy silhouette I see out of the corner of my eye
even when I don’t see it out of the corner of my eye,
a small pointed face with those two triangular ears
that perch atop your head, antennae-like;
the tail that slaps softly side-to-side,
restless unless asleep.
My thoughts meander away, dreamlike distractions,
and as my eyes close with certainty,
you brush my cheek with your paw and
sniff my face closely with your twitching nose,
whiskers tickling my nostrils.
I feel bad for people
who aren’t us.
People who don’t think romantically
about the number 42,
people who don’t think “incredible”
is an incredible word.
People who’ve never had their name anagrammed
as a way of being flirted with,
people who aren’t texted “Hey”
every day at 9:45 PM,
people who don’t share a handwritten letter
on the last day of every month—
people like that,
people who aren’t us.
The following three poems have been written with profound care. They are expressions of my perspective, paintings of my experiences; they are the soft beating of my heart, offered to you in a brief recording. I find myself most poetically stirred when I venture into the woods, to the shoulder of the creek, planting myself in the dirt and facing the sun for strength and touching the water for love. I hope you enjoy my watercolor words, and namaste to all.
Sunday evening porch-sitting
revitalizes my soul.
All the better if it rains,
to cleanse the past week’s worries
and water the seeds for this week.
The breeze twirls the steam from my hot tea
like a ballerina in a music box.
If winter sleeps, then spring stretches,
moving its stiff muscles after the deep rest,
Continue reading “Spring Stretches”
New shoes, new shirt, new backpack
We were back on the block again at 7:45AM,
Leaving Spongebob playing on the living room TV
While we waited outside for the bus and Mom watched us from the front door. Continue reading “How we Used to Wait”
Taking down the map
I was in a hurry, and the map was only partly attached.
As I peeled the tape off the walls, I surveyed the soft, worn edges of the map–
Old tack holes pierced the corners in clusters, and folded-over tape remnants from previous reigns.
This map had hung in my bedroom for over a decade now,
Its occupancy having begun on the purple walls of youth Continue reading “Creased Earth”