Garden Gloves
I’ve boxed my garden gloves
No sense in hobbies anymore
By the time I’d have flowers blooming,
a new family would be moving in.
All Entries
Bitter
He said crossing thirty was an ugly obituary
That his smile lines and anchor eyelids were his death sentence
Somehow old age is heavier to carry than the shovel he buried his friends with
He tries to coax compliments from me
As if youth approval could shed wrinkles or years
Orange Peel Bliss
The way his gaze opens my gates
His eyes peer kindness through my valleys
Absolving every hurt I hold to earth.
Freed, helium high all my miseries fly
Turning to mindless, floating clouds
Untamed
He belongs to the hills
Way out where the breeze carries only the sounds of the Earth turning
A leatherbound soul,
Fenceless and ferocious
Tattooist Theft
Head to toe she’s covered in street signs
Curving lines sketch endless roads
that feed her barcode-stripe interstates
Cities oozing-bloody dot her torso
Sunrise Traffic
From here the highway sounds like scissors on gift wrap
Those nice, smooth beautiful scissors you keep in a box
A tiny, precious cardboard chest
Forgotten and hurried past
Sleepless
An hour after your tires left deep treads in my driveway
I was still standing half-naked in the doorway
Staring into the rain
Believing if I watched long enough, something might actually feel different.
Three weeks’ time and it was as if you’d never been here
My Favorite Pair of Jeans
The first time I stand beneath a redwood
I want to be in your company
And when the Oregon coast holds me cold and close
I hope you’re there to keep me warm
The Thirteenth Cookie
You’re the thirteenth cookie
Or a brand-new bike and a joyride around the neighborhood
You’re the word “yes” wrapped up in a grin
The kind of incredible that remembers half-birthdays