Her Name is Grace
She sits on top of a mountain, crosses
her legs and
bounces a free foot in the air,
fields are barren in the valley
below, skin cracked and broken
pot-bellied kids wail, a ferociousness
not even a mother can stem.
She blows hot air to the heavens,
tossing the clouds
drags painted fingernails across the
scorched earth, gauging it like a
checkerboard.
Fat drops fall from the sky
torrents of rain, rivers flow down the mountain, filling the
cracks and crevices.
She bangs her cymbals, cries through the night
and when
dawn breaks,
the sun’s blushing rays bounce off newborn ponds and lakes,
streams meander, smiling at the running
children, their laughter
separating and connecting life,
mercy to the earth yet again.
Ready, now
It’s Friday night, late
I boot up a DVD, so last century
the screen flickers, a flash, memories caught in time
me, draped in white silk, toes squished into Jimmy Cho’s.
You, that smile, a penguin, hands reaching out to mine.
To love and cherish forever.
When did the trouble begin?
Not during takeoff, the airport, a honeymoon of
white sand and whispered promises.
Our first apartment?
New jobs, my dream of promotion, never satisfied
crusty dishes and dirty laundry left unattended
no space for feelings better off held inside.
The bigger place, then? We gave it our best shot
back porch sunsets, fancy drinks, birds wheeling overhead,
ice cream at the kitchen table, a sugar explosion
Was that us?
Me? The laughter?
I sniff, turn down the volume
Maybe another version of myself.
I slipped the ring off my finger in the driveway seconds after you left
but I’ve worn it ever since
lost in a fog, all work, in search of more success, burnt out
it hurts, my faults, money big and real, drunk in emptiness.
I pick up the phone
stumble, apologize
fresher, a newer me
hoping time can give us another chance.