Utah is the height of my life,
Slot canyons,
Slick rock,
Running, hiking, cycling, and music.
A giddy high feeling,
Everywhere I go.
Dirt, dust, red, orange,
Scenery that looks like a painting.
And then there’s night.
Stars, stars, and more stars.
Utah,
Where I pushed myself to the limit,
Went out of my comfort zone,
Survived,
And thrived.
Utah,
Where I raised the bar,
And vowed to never go low,
Again.
Based on a writing prompt: Rats, so agile and curious, surround my house.
In my dream,
Rats, so agile and curious,
Surround my house.
I don’t live there anymore.
I don’t remember seeing rats
Although I did find a dead mouse on my driveway one time.
I left it there,
It was gone by morning.
Parsing my dream.
A house I no longer live in,
Rats,
Curiosity
Agility.
What did I do today
that put rats and my house
in my mind?
I remember the rats in New York City,
Outside the office building where I worked.
They were big
With long tales.
They came out before sunset,
Lounged on the concrete
Went wherever they wanted to on the plaza,
Because, seriously, who was going to stop them.
My house in suburbia
Didn’t have rats,
Just that one mouse,
And snakes in the yard.
It wasn’t my favorite place to live,
It was always just a house to me,
Never a home.
Maybe that’s why the rats
Surrounded it in my dream.
Maybe they were curious
To see what kind of creature
Doesn’t abandon a sinking ship,
Like they do.
Yes, it was a dream
Not reality,
Rats, agile and curious
Surrounding my house.
Keeping me out or keeping me in?
I’ll never know,
The dream woke me up.
This one started from a writing prompt and then took on a life of its own.
His shirts in the drawer
She can’t stand seeing them anymore.
Sees the buttons she replaced
The stains she tried to erase.
Worn out memories
Faded logos and words.
She closes the drawer
Leaves the shirts in their place.
Third drawer down
That’s where they’ve always been
Clean and neatly folded
Growing older with each day
A reminder of good times, bad times,
And all the times in between.
When it’s time to move
She doesn’t know what she’ll do
No need to bring the furniture
Just what she needs to live,
A few reminders of where she’s been,
And space.
His shirts in the drawer
She kept them because it was easier
Than giving them away.
Soon she will need to decide
What to bring and what to leave behind.
Her head tells her to let go
Her heart asks her to hang on.
Her hands want to touch the softness
But she knows what they need to do.
Lift the shirts out of the drawer,
Place them in a bag,
And remove them from her life
forever.
I hear distant rumbles
and feel the air change.
Watch for a flash,
so I can count the seconds before the boom,
Look up the weather report one more time,
As I wait for the rain to pelt my windows,
and soak the ground.
I leave the windows open,
Until the wind and rain decide to
visit.
The rumbles get louder.
The light show arrives.
Rumbles are punctuated by booms that rattle
my apartment's old windows.
I hear the rain hitting the glass,
The sky lights up,
Faster and faster,
Lightning dancing across the sky,
Warning of the sounds to come.
Severe thunderstorms were predicted.
It looks and sounds like
the meteorologists got it right,
This time.
First spring poem this year
Sitting outside,
Blossoms on the nearby cherry trees
Flowers on the bush to my side.
Looking at the beauty around me,
While my nose runs
And my throats gets scratchy.
Ignore the minor discomforts of allergies
And focus on spring,
Sunshine,
The clear blue sky.
A light cool breeze,
The warmth and growth surrounding me.
Savoring the moment.
As a bird near me chirps
A response comes from across the street
and a musical conversation begins.
Call and response
The birds stop singing .
And i hear cars again,
And the murmur of a conversation behind me.
A couple walks by
I sit
Outside
Content
In this space and time
Wishing it could last forever.
Her voice in my head seemed so real, it felt like she was there.
Yesterday my mom lectured me
She’s been gone over two years
And she still tells me her opinion
I don’t mind it now as much as I used to.
I like hearing her voice in my head
And hope I never forget the sound,
The rhythm,
Words and phrases she made her own,
The tell-tale sigh, the exasperated admonition,
The doubt and pride,
The music.
I seem to be writing about my mom lately. This poem was prompted by a line in a book I was reading. The tie that binds mother and daughter.
The tie that binds mothers and daughters
is like no other.
It’s like the eternal light,
that never goes out.
There’s no physical alter,
Although the sacrifices seem to be many.
There’s a tie,
That sometimes tears
But never fully breaks.
The light may falter,
But it continues to glow,
Even after death.