Time and its relativity are clear now.
The animals and I keep a same schedule, and like them,
I believe I still matter. Hours are meaningful
Although they carry no cash.
Instead of colleagues, I converse with a cold front.
Clouds dash by at a pace I
Don’t know. Underneath, fears lap like
a flooding creek. I let them go;
tossing pieces of grass with gravity.
Time is stretched by gratitude.
I no longer rush. Let’s throw a ball
for the dog. I choose my adventures and
look up when I like.
There is space to expand and contract. To be.
We are now our own universe.
Tomorrow, a concept, just out of reach.
I slide low down into my chair.
Looking at the phone Looking at the phone Looking at the phone …
Out my window, rain drops jump the asphalt alive, rain
Pours so hard my world greys into one large cloud Shimmer and sliding freely. Trees shake and shudder.
Phone lies so still. I am
Waiting on the call Waiting on the call Waiting on the call Waiting on the call Waiting
in a sequins
glitter hangover your Bowie star wilts over your eye shutting it
and your leggings
tug and pinch in a nag
if you could eat
it would be M&Ms and cheese but you can’t –
it’s much too much
for one reduced to gold and stardust to one so fashionably smudged.
doll face leathered brown
with rosy streaks of blush so jarring yet as she holds her coffee absent hand to smooth hair pulled back harsh i hear her say to me – fifteen years on the street and in january maybe
she smiles, sips,
in a jacket casual cool thoughout the bar i know women are looking at my swagger with a look she is eating out of my hand she is willing to toss that hair a bit.
you don’t know
nothin bout me you don’t know bout growin up hard, bout the struggle
you only know
suburban white bread heartache- you don’t know nothin bout it.
red white blue crowds swell crest cheer down the boardwalk firework finale booms over waves crashing my toes sandy on a balcony the streetlights humming hazy with humid Patriotism.
ought to live a certain way. I have a book of etiquette from 1928:
“bobbed hair does not
carry with it the privledge of using a comb in public.”
If I’m the woman
wearing diamonds to breakfast I’m labeled nouveau riche.
along water, bricks
line a path until, whispers hello soldiers gone.
[running to the Korean war memorial in Canton, MD]
the woman with silk black hair
changed her name to fit in — i know nothing else other than she holds her wine close like smooth red silk and drinking slowly, promises she now fits in.