thoughts are coming slowly
there’s so much to say
it’s like skipping through syrup
getting tripped up by my own feet
falling over my tongue
no one wants to wait
to hear what finally comes out
they’re too busy laughing
at the spectacle I’ve made
change is in the air
Why it seemed different, she could not have explained. Watching the rays of sun as they danced through the leaves, feeling the crisp breeze that told of colder days to come, the day seemed so very ordinary. But in that place inside herself where she kept secrets, she felt the change unfurling. Kind of like looking an animal in the eye and feeling that basic connection. Sort of like knowing a storm is coming even when the sky is blue and cloudless. The same instinct rippled through her, letting her know to be ready. Change is in the air.
his tell
it was telling
the fluttering motions
he made with his hands
when trying to explain
his feelings
Poryphria’s Season
She was fine with the solstice but the equinox got her every time.
He told her she was just the same as everyone else.
She thought that was not true all the time.
Someday she’d be someone’s The One and not a stand-in For Now.
She was an expert at transition
But could not abide consistency.
She didn’t see a calm pond but saw a stagnant cesspool.
She’d sing to the songs the breeze carried
He’d try to pin her like a moth to a board
When she really wanted the flame carried on the wires.
Had she really been told she could do anything
Or was that a daydream like the others?
What a lie if true, what a story if not.
There were constraints binding her to the Now but not her mind which delved into Then and Again.
For every change she built a pattern
For every room she’d create a space
In her vision he glowed like starlight
In her ears she sang for herself alone.
He thought he knew her seasons but she surprised him just the same.
spinning happily
she used to be golden
tresses blowing in the wind
as she spun happily amid the wildflowers
swirling dust forgiven on old roads
traveling from fields to forest
forgotten leaves making her a soft landing
crickets keeping her company at night
while she kept close thoughts of warmth and music
never a moment to lose
feeling whole in her favorite sweater
only needing words sung or spoken
to remember her stories
her dreams darkened as her eyes opened
blackened and broken hearts dampened her spirits
she learned that she was always alone
among pebbles and fireflies and men
herself but a wisp of a thought
her sweater became threadbare and eventually lost
she grew colder and older
she awoke one day feeling warmth from within
carried that feeling on new travels
until she came to where the field met the forest
closed her eyes
hugged herself in her new sweater
felt the breeze passing through trees
with a lighter step
she moved through the old path
remembering old words
weaving them with new songs
a touch of silver rather than gold
but spinning happily again
The Word Rummager 