Into the purple smoke
she tossed her painful memories
wounds that oozed and refused to heal
stripping each scar from her body
and in turn destroying the scent
of lemon and honey
her mother’s blanket that kept her warm
on those harsh winter nights;
those bygone things and people
were no longer enough
larkspur child lacking guile
breezy whims and summer smile
let us hop forward in single file
and play away the many miles
every summer, we gathered copper-lustered hopes
and bit into their fresh minted coatings
tart like lemon fingers at tea time
only to throw them by the handfuls
into the fountain behind the schoolyard
we stood, knee-deep, shivering in
the idle daydreams
The weeds have grown
over the glen that was ours:
childhood memories shedding
My greatest advisors
through a lonely childhood
have always been books,
but now I find their ideals
have too many exceptions.
First, I want to thank all the writers and artists who joined in on yesterday’s National Poetry Day party. It was great to catch up with old friends and meet some new faces! Now back to your regularly scheduled writing…
Donna wrapped up her old teddy bear, the mink with the missing eye, and a scruffy lion in a few scraps of cloth to be put into the box to Goodwill. She hadn’t seen her childhood toys since she left them behind in her mother’s house. She had names for all of them once, but try as she might she couldn’t remember any of them until she came upon Pepper, the wolf. His hair had been washed out of his gray dye when she had given him a bubble bath, was it? Yes, 40 some odd years ago.
“You’re looking your age now,” Donna said fondly, touching his nose. She pulled a stray white curl away from her own face and smiled. “And so am I.”
He was the only thing she took for herself from that house, safely tucked under her arm.
I wish I could curl into
warm blankets of memory,
laugh with childhood clarity,
and smile an easy happiness
received and mirrored.
An old grain tower
Becomes Rapunzel’s prison
And a fictional rescue transforms into
An assurance that all girls become princesses
And all boys grow up to be gentlemen
A pink umbrella
Disembarks from the school bus
Games of luck and games of chance
Flying a kite on a warm summer’s day
Are wonderful, stress-free pastimes
Those childhood modes of play.
But do not think to tinker with my heart
To take it apart and wait until I erect it again
Do not mistake an emphatic “NO” for a start
And resume those cruelest forms of trickery.
That façade that proclaims kindness is false
That smile only searches for a new toy to break
Like a self-deluded hero
You mistake a friend as a vampire to stake.
And though I loved you, and showed myself true
I love myself more, than to be treated so by you.