By a River (10 second auditory meditation)

*this program changes my line breaks, and I’m too out of date to know how to fix it. any assistance would be appreciated!*

 

 

i am a

newly fallen

leaf

on the water;

let go

via

program cell

death.

Inevitable.

Sometimes,

with you,

i am the stone;

rare to budge,

enmeshed

in mud yet

still

shiny.

Around us,

the debris,

flotsam

and

jetsam

memories of

a civil

discourse,

float:

shattered

pieces

aloft,

destined to

settle.

more than a forecast

what calls the rain to me,

to be

slapping itself

against the window,

pain, fervor, petrichor

bursting sideways

and losing

control down

the aluminum sides

containing

us here;

reflected eyeballs

wide between

flashes

of sound

and fury.

the midnight

the oracle gives

up tempestuous

predictions:

easy,

ready,

free to everyone,

although

shoelaces

hold more fascinating

syntax

than wasting

time,

reading the sky.

April

 

a curling breeze
made its way
’round mossy
haired rocks,

still threaded
with the remnants
of arctic wind

sewing itself
into awakening
tree skins;

weaving invisible
gossamer graphs
‘twixt stretching
strands of

mossflower.
stitched in,

we grow.

To a sister at Christmas, some years later

going through the photos
of that time your paper hat
split down the middle

and I gave you mine
to stop your fussing
to get to the matter at
hand

to curl the fish,
to tell the joke,
to admire older kids
we didn’t know

and their accomplishments.

affixing your new
crown at an angle and
patting my now naked
middle parted hair,

you smiled and
bolted from the
table.

and I missed you
already.

365: One

“In Lucy Maud Montgomery style, describe the fall morning sunrise’s sights and sounds in seven sentences.”

Standing alone by the window, she took in the greyish countenance of the sky with weary eyes and felt reflected. The glass would be sealed for many months to come. Though the sun’s ascent was invisible behind countless turn of the century A-Frames, the stirrings of a few chestnut hoarding squirrels were chattering, muted, across the still air. Rowan boughs heavy with their scarlet offerings lent the window’s scene a little brightness. She longed to feel the crispness, allow the season’s calming to wrap around her from the outside, rather than merely take it in the essence of still life; but it was not up to her. The dying of one season had brought new life to her and her family’s small existence in Shelburne, and that life would protest her absence with much tiny fervor, should she seek the solitude of morning out of doors. Instead, she imagined the muted scents of lavender, thyme and rosemary moving through her nose and lungs and made a note in her mind to bring them in for drying as soon as possible.

Aside

you’re not getting any/younger,/not getting any/older./sit down,here,/with me awhile/and stop time./know it all./ I was, you were,/because we did,/somehow./ -but someone took/it from us,/stuck it away in a vault,/for hoarding/and miserly misery./empty crooks/and vacant/crannies,/stuffed instead with/distraction and guise/the inexplicable end/of enlightenment.