oh please turn it down
all the noise
every damn morning
I’m trying to say goodbye
to the moon
she’s still hanging in the sky
telling me tales I missed in my sleep
before the sun wakes
peeking above the hills
the moon and I aren’t done yet
with the night
blades of smoke
holy shit, it’s beautiful
I whispered
as I almost drove the car off the road
ogling the blades of smoke
as they cut across the sky
I’d never seen anything
like the hovering bloody hues
of that early morning
the wisps were very still
not moving like the clouds above
was I witnessing a standoff in the valley
the smoke holding back the sun
why did it seem so familiar
the sharp edges
the old blood
the smell of burning
was this a remnant
a reminder
of a past life
one that I couldn’t recall
but didn’t want to forget
what are these images that flicker
when I close my eyes
this same smoke
left behind
after a great battle
waiting for the rains
recess
telling time, walking a straight line
never in my toolbox
memorizing facts,
coloring in the lines
seemed a waste of time
when thoughts would carry me away
running full out with hair flying
leaving awkward talk behind
helped a nervous girl make friends
had to be fast on foot, with words
to stay afloat in the cruel world
of childhood
the halcyon days
are the few we recall
with sugar and sepia photos
yet lord of the flies ruled
every kid for themselves
so tender were hearts
they broke at first blush
with each trampling
of a careless boy or girl
grownups were formed
carrying hidden pain like camels
lunch hours and meetings
won’t fix this
let’s have another go at recess
run full out with hair flying
color all over the page
share words
let’s stop telling time and play
walking away on an autumn night
traipsing through scattered leaves
leaving the quiet, sleeping town
moonlight shows a new path
leaving firm ground behind
the call has come many times before
but never with such varied watercolors
glowing in the growing dark
no sounds heeded or needed
the rest has been washed way
like a vivid dream forgotten upon waking
looking forward without seeing clearly
what could be is still better than what was
spicy scourge
nonsense and peppermints
cinnamon and lies
swirling flavors of deceit
turned out and put on display
hot tales burn the mouth
wringing hands don’t quench the flames
let’s douse the lies with whiskey
watch the treetops burn
it never seems to reach us
the frenzy we create
laughing at the growing fire
spitting out spicy epithets
seeing nothing but the marks left
by our own scourge
The Word Rummager 