that's mrs. mediocrity to you

i threw away all the curtains
because i want to see everything

i’ve grown old on a mantle of marble
i’ve breathed love into statues of stone

i wrapped grey over hard faded rainbow
because gold is the color of own

…

the day starts

with

tea and sunshine

rye and wheat

mess and murmur

that’s it

that’s all there is

…

time winds down

and i think of hours

minutes

days

spent

chopping slicing dusting folding sweeping typing
designing walking rinsing eating reading roaming
washing preparing gathering weeding building
sorting sifting scrubbing changing twisting

staring at sky

loving

living

i built a new corner
and walked straight into it

left the paint on the floor

drying

held my arms high and my head straight

buried the forgotten

forgave the remembered

worshiped nothing

but silence
and the tenacity

of trees

throwing spring green buds
into air

like so much
confetti

the taste of tea and whispers of envy

smells of green and cinnamon
rolling through a harbor of unbalance

too late too much too early too little

promises skitter in every dark corner

wallflower flower built for keeping
pressed between pages

hidden bouquet

squirrel fight

dove coo

blue jay belligerent

.

skin soaking up sun

anti mirror

wide smile

prismatic

.

desiderata

forgotten

.

and she walked
the center line
straight past the pond
of forgiveness

.

dipping one toe in

the cold is brutal

still

this is where i live

now

old and grey
and somewhat silent

no one cares
except when I creak

sitting alone
in my sun-filled corner

i have always had grey cats

a favorite color
in a tiny life

lived beneath every rainbow

where the bluebirds bring me sky
and I am just a figment
of a girl’s imagination

holding court
at the laundresses
tea party

and you are the shadow
of my joy

…

she chose
the flower

he named
the scent

and i’ll show you a seed
left to dry in an envelope

or an avalanche of words
dropped cold on a doorstep

or a curtain barely moving
in a window filled with need

…

a broken phone
will not deliver
cries for help

an ordinary walk
an ordinary day
sun shining down on both of us

a conversation
standard pleasantries
locked inside a panic box
neither fixable
nor fixed
in place
or time
or mind

it’s like i’m trapped
inside my own body

you said

can i ask you something
are you afraid of me

an ordinary house
an ordinary room
your dog asleep in the sun

as you broke into pieces
again and again and again

…