Little blue dot, so small and pale. A freckle on the shoulder of the Universe. Soil, handfuls of dirt so dark and damp. Six foot blanket of Goodbye. Mother, life-bringer and nurturer. She wears no crown but she is Queen.
Tag: poet
April 21 : On Alarm Clocks
I hear it's a common complaint-- the alarm clock. It is jarring, grating, aggressively braying, the digital jackass sitting on my side table. Wearily each night I plug in my time, a begrudging tap-tap-tap to 4:30 every day and squint through tired eyes as it tells me just how long I have-- down to the … Continue reading April 21 : On Alarm Clocks
April 20 : Friday
Full sunshine warming winter-weary grass, Ready to throw open the windows and invite in the air. Inside is cool and quiet-- we fall asleep on accident. Dancing tree limbs sprinkled with new buds, Ants stealing crumbs from around flip flopped feet. Yesterday we said goodbye to our overcoats.
April 19 : Pink Hair
What if I had pink hair, I wonder. Like a fairy godmother, an ethereal vision of gentle disposition, peony petal soft, a harlequin romance heroine in pastel. But maybe (probably) like a frizzy and frazzled manic pixie dream girl snapping over-chewed bubble gum between snarled teeth. Maybe on a different girl, with smaller hips and … Continue reading April 19 : Pink Hair
April 18 : Be Like Bees
I. Wake up early-- run late. Who is the queen of your hive? If not you, then who? II. Pollinate the world. Grow wildflowers between rocks. Make honey at home. III. Stinger like harsh words. You cannot undo the hurt. It will hurt you, too.
Typewriter Moon 