Full Moon

Full Moon

I’m looking out the window 

at the full moon rising over the mountains,

bright and so sure of itself.

I wish I could be like that.

 

 

Rainbow Sprinkles

 I should have taken a picture of the cookie. Sigh.

It’s June,

I’m nibbling on a cookie

I bought at the bakery.

It’s a sugar cookie,

covered with sprinkles,

  red, orange, yellow, green, purple, and pink.

Not exactly the colors on a rainbow flag,

but close enough for me to understand

what it represents.

Seeing rainbow cookies

in a bakery

near the courthouse square

in a city where

I routinely see pickup trucks adorned with

American flags

and stickers

that say things like

F*** Biden, 

Go Brandon,

Trump 2024,

And t-shirts with ugly messages

about Joe sucking and Kamala swallowing, 

and other things children shouldn’t see.

In a state where three months ago the governor signed a bill

that outlaws gender-affirming surgery for children.

The cookie gives me a little hope,

but not much.

It’s just a cookie,

on a bakery rack, 

alongside oatmeal, chocolate chip, and frosted.

The sprinkles are kind of like the flavor of the month,

In July they will probably be

red, white, and blue.

The rainbow sprinkle cookies

won’t change any closed minds.

The hate will continue.

The love will continue.

The hate will grow.

Hopefully the love will grow too.

 

 

 

Blank Page

 I haven't written for a while, which is probably why this one is so long.

I stare at the blank page,

   look at my coffee cup,

  decide to wait for the dark roast to cool

    a little 

      before I take a sip.

I look back at the blank page

  and sigh,

  quietly,

I’m in public

  and sighing loudly

  seems like 

  it would bring attention to me.

Which isn’t bad,

but i’d rather everyone focus on themselves

  instead of me.

Ironic, I know.

I’m sitting at an outside table

  at the coffee shop 

    because i’d rather be near people

  than home

alone.

I look back at the page

  on my laptop

  and see my reflection

my hair blowing in the breeze,

  the pattern on my button down shirt 

I wear

   because i’m sick of rubbing on sunscreen,

    and still getting new spots

    that the dermatologist 

      might find interesting.

I can’t see the life lines on my face

  unless I move really close to the screen

  which feels like a ridiculous thing to do,

  and probably looks ridiculous 

    to anyone who happens to see me do it.

I like my lifelines

  far more

    than the dark circles under my eyes

   which have been there

   for what seems like forever.

No matter how much sleep I get

  (usually it’s  7 ½ - 8 ½ hours a night)

  the dark bags don’t go away.

The whites of my eyes are clear, 

  not bloodshot.

I don’t think my eyes look tired

  but maybe I’m used to them

  and other people

  think my eyes look

    tired,

    sad,

    depressed,

    or something else I don’t think I am.

      at least not right now.

We all sometimes feel 

tired, sad, or depressed,

at times, 

Don’t we?

I recently noticed new lines on my face

  that droop down from the corners of my mouth

I’m don’t like these

  new

    short

      lines.

They make my mouth look like

  my face is frozen in a scowl,

They seem to say

  “Approach with caution, 

grumpy old person”

   I may be getting old, (aren’t we all)

   But I try to avoid being grumpy, crotchety, 

   and all those things

   I found scary, annoying, and unpleasant

    when I was younger.

I try to be happy, relaxed, and me,

  which I don’t think is scary

I’m enjoying this older version of me.

The downward lines portray

  a darkness I don’t want to feel.

They’re not like my forehead lines

  which deepen as the day progresses

They’re not like my cheek lines

and the lines radiating from my eyes, 

  the lines that appear when I smile

  They linger longer

  the more I smile.

   I love these lines!

And this is why I am sitting

  at a small 

    round 

      metal 

        red table

  next to the sidewalk

   watching people walk by

   watching the cars and pickup trucks

   watching the people around me.

The woman wearing 

oversize sunglasses that people with macular degeneration wear

  and a floppy straw sunhat.

It’s windy.

Gusty. 

She’s holding onto the metal stand that holds her order number,

  10,

She has a book in her flowery bag.

I wonder if she brought it to read

  or picked it up from the library

    on her way here.

She notices when I look her way.

  so I look back at the street

  and then down at my laptop.

She goes back inside.

  Was it me looking her way?

  Or is she concerned her order is ready

    and they don’t know she’s out here.

  Or maybe it was the temperature and wind.

My screen is now full of words..

My coffee cup is half empty

My water bottle will need a refill soon.

The woman returns. 

  puts her order number, purse, and book bag

  on her table

  and waits again.

She shifts and her sandals scuff the cement

  She looks around 

  I look down.

    and then 

      I can sense her

      watching me.

So I look up.

Her head and sunglasses are turned towards me

  her sunglasses are so dark.

    I can’t see where she is looking,

Maybe she’s staring at me

  and composing my story in her head

Maybe she’s gazing my way

  and seeing another person on the patio.

  and she doesn’t care about who I am

   or why I’m here. 

Maybe she isn’t looking at me at all.