sinking into a big chair
with a fluffy blanket
a steaming cup of tea
stacks of books nearby
I may be trapped
by comfort
forevermore
eyes meeting
the knots inside her started unfurling
his name rolled off her tongue
echoes dissipating into the twilight
he held her face close
eyes meeting, speaking silently
she fit against him snugly
like a puzzle piece
even if they didn’t know
what the picture was supposed to be
Needing an eclipse
I don’t trust sunny days or blue skies
I much prefer the gloomy greys
Most of my heartache has happened
on the most beautiful days.
Always seemed incongruous.
Finding my child was gone before I even felt him
then having to walk down the grassy slope
filled with wildflowers
sweetly scenting the air
when all I could taste was salty tears.
Losing my father hours after sharing a celebratory meal
on the bluest summer day
then having to greet his cold countenance
in an air conditioned hospital hallway
parts of him still warm from his run on the lane.
Feeling my young heart break
from a boy who didn’t even know he had held it
just as loosely as his jangling set of keys
even though I tried fervently
to wrap around him.
Fearing my soul was irreparably torn by a man
who took me on journeys
and shared so much wisdom
but could only see as far as that night
when I needed to look beyond.
But grey skies have always comforted
tea and blankets and old movies cocooning me
a gentleman’s hands taking mine gently in the cold
storms bringing clarity
grey days feeling like home.
Take my breath away
it’s happened again
I saw you across the room
took my breath away
beat of the night
it was too loud
but the din seemed to fade
when unwanted thoughts came forward
ears were full of numbing sounds
pulsing of the bass
pounding of the drums
people were packed tight
writhing like sea serpents
in an ocean of thrumming music
bodies moved all on their own
while errant thoughts crept in
skin touching
hips swaying
feet following patterns on the floor
but in the mind’s eye
there they were
snuggled under a quilt
on a Saturday night
tucked in early
staying up late
talking and loving for hours
not here in a warehouse-turned club
where the cool people go
to claim they are celebrating life
when they are really just escaping mediocre reality
the mundane that we all face
the rhythms of the day
overwhelming
so they try to forget amidst the club rhythms
until closing time
and then even the streetlights seem harsh
showing every crevasse on the face
try to keep to the shadows
where silence is a friend
darkness is a comfort
making the trek homeward
walking greasy streets
only a few souls lurking and leering about
all wondering and worrying alike
who will take me now
will I ever be loved again
the questions fall quietly on macadam
to be picked up the next night
by others seeking answers in the beat of the night
The Word Rummager 