in her mind.
The meditative hand
swept from left to right,
blank and replete as
Only years left to
until she is someone else.
The moon is
and filled with a silent suffering.
Her aching joints creak,
but she is someone else –
studded with stars.
Only the emptiness
Your face is still smeared
with the grape jelly
from breakfast two days ago,
but you refuse to acknowledge it,
or the dishes still on the counter.
You haven’t brushed your hair in days.
People are worried that you’re
getting bad again,
old enough to be put away,
But your eyes are alive
with the colors and words
you want to create through
your stiff fingers.
The arthritis is thickening.
You can’t be bothered with tedious
notions of normalcy.
You only have a little while left
before your mind tethers off
and signals for the end.
They’ll come with good intentions
and very little patience,
they’ll only hear what they want to.
Put you in a white room,
with a Bible to keep you company.
They want to believe
that that’s what best,
but it’s only best for them.
They’re still young enough
to enjoy the luxury of passive thought.
But you need more time
to connect the lines with the letters,
to mix the colors right,
to polish and perfect the detail.
It’s all they’ll have to deal with after.
So as you scramble to make some sense
of your insanity,
you lick at the jelly
on the corners of your mouth.
It’s still sweet like contentment and accomplishment.
The sound of footsteps near the door
makes you calm.
Sweet kids, they might miss you.
But if they understand this,
they’ll understand you.
No doubt, the sound of a gun
makes everyone more sensitive.
And the sight of death inflicted
makes everyone rethink the facts,
You were September's news,
crawling your way out of summer minds
filled with sweat and parched tongues,
flocked with mosquitos
and exposed skin.
Was there ever a happier time?
Would you remember the burning sting
that overtook your body
as you laid down on the sidewalk?
Your eyes were barely able
to see past the glaring light,
the pain forcing them closed.
You were a fish out of water,
gasping for air,
until you finally rolled off the edge.
Swimming in your remedy,
you surrounded yourself in the waves.
Staying safe, you would not emerge until
the heat gave way for cool.
And you found your way to me;
my skin was still burned
from a flaming July that still hadn't died
when I emerged into the world.
You kissed my wounds and pulled me through
to the other side of the spectrum.
The chill in the air took our breath away
and we huddled close together.
Our weakened hearts drank in the relief
and our breathing trembled.
We had found a way through,
exactly how we would never know.
Would we make it to November?