The Bruise

 

I'm up early

earlier than the day...

black turning to blue

waiting for the yellow of morning,

like a bruise about to heal.

Isn't that funny?

"A bruise about to heal".

It doesn't just heal.

It turns from black to blue

green to yellow

to something just off from your skin tone.

And if deep enough

there is no healing.

Just an atonement through forgiveness

and an understanding that is yours alone

to plaster over the wound.

And yes,

that band-aid makes you well enough to continue the linear direction of life

without a backward glance,

except for those thrown over your shoulder

every day.

A Rose in the Crabgrass

 

It's the quite of evening

as everything downshifts 

to a slower beat.

No place to be.

Someplace to stay.

Birds and bees have gone wherever they go,

silently waiting for tomorrow to take flight 

again...to my dogs delight.

His needs so simple,

mine so complex,

I fear they are unmeetable....

until I look in my husbands eyes

and that way he strips the wallpaper I've hung in disguise,

the way he rids the garden of weeds

I've planted as flowers.

He knows a rose from crabgrass,

so why this farce?

I keep thinking I can get away with it.

Teflon Brain

 

I am not a collector of memories.

They are too slick.

A silicone layer surrounds each

that allows them to slide into oblivion

where they can't hurt me anymore.

But this practiced skill...

lubricant of the mind...

sends with the avalanche, the good

important,

and meaningful.

But to subvert this skill

might mean death

or suffocation without death

on repeat

which is worse.

So I beg your mercy

if your name escapes me.

But I never forget a face....

falling into categories

good....or bad.

I just can't remember why.