You send light, clouds

and a mighty howling wind

through my valley

you don’t hear me, heed me

or even want or need me

it rains and snows

on the same day here

counting beats between thunder

tracking colors of sunrise

hearing the stream’s swift current

I am tossed about

on a sea of cushions

blinking and squinting

through wind and fading light

you remind me of epic stories,

and secret hurts, the best which

make me crave the quiet after

you prevail, unforgotten

often unnamed

A glimpse of an old woman

reflected in the elevator door

a little less golden

a quick rundown

of all her broken parts

she shakes her head

another year falls away

stepping off the elevator

and it’s just stale carpet

instead of a mossy bank

mentally cataloguing

places she has walked

or thought about

travel imagined

“I identity as Red,” she said

and I wonder at the lengths we go

to escape whatever it is we have been

to get to a place we still don’t fit anyway.

“And I am Blue,” said another, as I mentally

kicked myself for not jumping in with that,

as surely if there was a color personality,

mine is Blue. Not trendy or sky blue or

sea blue or night blue but some amalgam,

like a grease spot depending on the angle.

The man nearby was Green and sat still

like a tree. He was part of a forest

and I love the forest but am not great

at identifying trees by name, though

I feel their presence sure as any person.

Some other women were chatting about

being Yellow or giggling about being White,

one even stoically claiming Grey.

He was quite still, his leaves ruffling

softly in the breeze, waiting to see

which bird would rest in his branches.

I am flying a kite on the breeze

and will only get tangled in branches

so I stay removed, reluctantly.

I make lists and have at least a dozen reasons to smile most mornings.

Reminders help offset the programming.

I have tried and can’t quite get the smile to reach my eyes today.

The edge is never too far away.

Old messages are getting tangled in new quandaries and I am losing hope.

It will be… ok. I am… ok.

There is always bread to eat and books to read and never mind the empty places.

I am not brave but stuck in place.

I was told the word today was ESCAPADE.

The letters even look like a trip,

sort of swerving and banking

as if swiftly around a sharp curve.

I have planned many escapes

but the best are unplanned stumbles

into something unknown.

It appeals to my unbalanced nature

to find I thrive after the floor drops away

and flight has been deemed impossible.

I float, twist, test the currents

until I fall somewhere new, even if

just the other side of the tree.