She imagines the possibility under the cover of her flaming locks.
One Sentence Poem
Tag: life
It Cannot
It cannot take the glow of Spring’s first warm light on my winter skin.
It cannot tilt my heart on the axis it spins.
It cannot lay claim to the adventures of my mind.
It, therefore, will not win.
It will lay bare our faults and our fears.
It has no soul. About nothing it cares.
It will ravage the old and young the same.
It will expose our mistakes and immortal shame.
And when it’s darkness towers over us, and a last stand remains,
Rush boldly we will, shedding its chains.
It cannot, it will not, it should not transpire,
A dimming of our humanity’s fire.
It cannot, it will not, it should not conspire,
For we are glass blown into steal, forged from this same fire.
Today
I can still feel the sun’s heat on my face,
even when fear wrestles with grace.
I can still see love in another’s eyes,
while facing the darkness of demise.
I can still water a flowering bud,
as my emotions get swept away by the flood.
And I can still believe today will be tomorrow,
when my heart mends from subsuming sorrow.
The Virus
In the quiet of the night
In the hole of the soul
In the alley where it lived
Under the moon covered in clouds
The sadness it did bring,
Pulling the stitches of the world
Infecting the tears of many
While living in the body untold
Through the darkness it spread
Killing wisdom with a stone
But through it all a tiny light did glow
And with it, brought hope
Small and grand gestures brought healing
Like vitamins from the sun
And the virus disappeared
Into the cave from which it did come
For humanity is the strongest medicine of all
Goodbye Girl
Dropping joy like seeds
Which turn into trees
Growing through the seasons of her life
The leaves unfold
Each a story told
A canopy from the essential strife
When comes her last call
A final leaf in the fall
It will cut with a silent knife
Luci
She can turn the world with her smile.
Her heart, a song, coloring your eyes with something better.
She is fiercely kind and kindly direct.
Swiftly tilting her head, she questions the patriarchy.
A poet mathematician. A singer scientist. A musician doctor, healing your tired mind with her laughter.
She is precisely messy, delightfully charged, a force of joy.
A daughter, sister. friend to all.
How to Get to the End
“Can I get directions to the end?,” she asked.
“To find End, go back to Began,” he replied.
“Take no baggage or holes in your heart. Sometimes you go to End to find where you start.”
She huffed, and she ranted, as the curious man strode away.
For she would not be able to make the end today.
Banter
We could banter,
Say all the things.
Whispering in moonlight,
Exchanging rings.
We could tell truths,
Deeper than sea.
Exchanging oxygen for words,
Until we’re free.
We could sing,
Our hearts the drums.
Making morning night,
Darkness always comes.
Mimi: Part 1
I watched tentatively as she let her cigarette dangle out of the side of her mouth and ash while she cooked a substandard meal. I don’t think she heard me when I said I didn’t like mushroom soup. She was not helping her case as she worked to stir the salty, gelatinous blob in a soup pan while burning some grilled cheese to dip into it.
My grandparents seemed to have a lot of this soup though from a ten for eight dollars sale at Publix. I was only here for two weeks, and Mimi was trying her best to be a Grandma. I knew she would prefer to do hair and nails in her back salon rather than tend to my care, especially since I arrived ill, unkempt, and sad.
I was interrupting the weekly gossip collection from her elderly clients on the island. As she gingerly cut and styled what remained of their hair, they were more interested in whom Mimi’s bookish granddaughter from Michigan was dating. For once in my plain life, I could count two young men in the mix. They were also the reason I ran away for two weeks to the exhausting heat and solitude of Anna Maria Island.
I always wondered what it would be like to travel back in time to my grandmother’s salon in Detroit. I could see from the old photos she was pinup gorgeous, and her nails were always perfectly manicured and painted. I was currently somewhere between goth and grunge, and I’d prefer to pick at my nails versus painting them. I had big plans, and they did not involve being a pinup or small business owner. I still appreciated the glamour of Mimi. Even with time marching against her, she had a way of preparing and carrying herself that called for your attention.
It was already in the nineties today, and there was a minimal breeze coming in from the waters of Tampa Bay across the street. I finished what I could of the misbegotten lunch when Mimi asked me what I would do for the rest of the day. I think she was ready for me to venture out on my own for a bit.
Twenty-Twenty
A year in the swirl of the twirl of a life
A blink and a tear from the center of her eye
It came, and it passed, unpaused by the strife
Ignoring the very question, an existential “Why?”
It spun, and it sputtered, finally rushing ahead
A child, somewhat wild, quietly perplexed
Dreams in rough shape yet decidedly undead
Broken, not battered, mildly vexed
Swiftly absorbing the ending of reality’s play
She’s a year, a lifetime, a decade of plenty
Living a lifetime in moments today
Flashing forward, to tomorrow, twenty-twenty
Kelly Rogers 