To My Mom

I remember
when I was little
my mom would always
cover me up
before bed.
I would lie down
on my twin bed mattress
and wait for first the sheet-
white cotton
with bright flowers
and purple butterflies-
then the fluffy comforter,
red and pink and green,
so thick and heavy
with all the safety of
homely comforts.
And I never wanted
to get out until morning,
for then would the spell
be lost,
and no one could ever
recreate the snug closeness
of a few blankets
and a pillow
like my mom,
least of all
myself.
So would I fall asleep
in that warm, close
hug from heaven,
delivered
by my one childhood idol,
and dream
in childish
bliss.

Edge of the Earth

When the great orb has faded from the sky
And Artemis glows silver with her bow
And all the flow'rs' bright plumage seems to die
And all earth slumbers, unaware of foe-
That silent presence that penetrates all
And poisons dreams so sweet with bitter bile
And causes the unwary one to fall
Into a pit of bitterness and guile-
Then does Apollo's chariot of flame
Rise o'er the horizon in vic'try
With fiery shield to cast away the name
So whispered in the Grecian mystery.
And ever will this cycle never cease
'Til all worlds shall perish in burning peace.

A Walk

Mist rises in a mass
of silver and grey,
obscuring the path
that I know so well.
Vague outlines
of moss-covered boulders
and trees' bare branches
come up sharply
out of the silver haze.
The ground is soft
beneath my feet
and I leave my matching
imprints behind me
in the hastily fading path.
The sky above has been
concealed by a rough fabric
of interwoven branches.
Moonlight struggles down
in dappled beams of silver
and white, uneven on the trail.
I take a deep breath
of the crisp night air
and exhale, my small cloud
of white joining with
the shrouding vapors.

My Grandma's Quilt

Perfect black stitches
zig zag and cross in
perfect perpendicular seams,
corralling eccentric bursts
of mismatched color
and blocks of pattern
with a teal edge.
Yet somehow it fits together
like puzzle pieces
or knowing intuitively
the correct answer
or which path to turn on
or putting together an
outfit just so.
This, this window of fabric
and seams and thread
and pigment
broken and shattered
scattered in a hundred
different forms
hanging above the banister-
a portal to my ancestors.

The Most Beautiful Days

Puddles here and puddles there
Raindrops catching in my hair
Sparkle and glitter by my eye
As I gaze up to an overcast sky

Umbrella forgotten in the slippery road
I twirl around in the street, a wordless ode
To the beautiful clouds, so inky above
And the shower of joy that I so love

When clouds recede and puddles are dry
My last bow reaches across the sky
Glowing in all its radiant glory
And all the world in perfect harmony

Insecure

You are like the leaf
that trembles
and falls
at a breath of the wind
tumbling down
and landing perfectly
on the liquid mirror below.

Saturday Market

I take a deep breath
and a million scents
waft towards my open face:
Freshly baked breads,
savory meats,
light fragrant flowers,
sharply perfumed spices,
sweet kettle corn.
Colors whirl around me,
an oasis in the middle
of dark grey offices.
Vibrant reds, pulsing indigo,
radiant yellows, verdant emerald.
Tinkling charms
and trinkets
reach my ears,
hoarse voices calling out prices
and offers
with the upbeat guitar
and drums
to complete the melody.
Soft fabrics run through my palm
like a river through a valley.
A cold pendant rests
on my chest,
sending shivers up my spine
and down to my toes.
Young children splash
in the center of a fountain
crying out with adolescent joy.
I close my eyes,
and soak up all the motion
swirling around me,
lost in the beauty
of the marketplace.