Sunday, February 13, 2011
survival – backyard
the backyard of my childhood was alive with
every machine and structure known to human kind
was accessible to our whims, as long as
daylight danced with walls and shadows could exist
sparrows carried instructions in their winged fluttering,
told us to look up every day and consider them
along with the neighborhood canvas
we still notice the sky and the clouds and the roses
as they call to us through their fluctuations
but those winds were our dreams and
our dreams were our play-dates
we weren’t that creative in the interpretations
of our artwork at school,
we were just copying clouds
and regurgitating bird songs
i asked my cat today
if he felt like being my backyard buddy
so we could consider the bark from upside down
and i could recall old times
when the moon came to soon
where the sun was always
WCC Day 13 – Week 2: Language is a Place of Struggle, letters
for the Women’s Creative Collective Writers’ Workshop
Dear Door Knob,
Let me just say right now, I promise to write you again.
At some point.
I was thinking how I don’t really want to write to you today,
but that it might be a good idea to send a short message
just to get the conversation started. Just to force my
fingers to make some kind of effort towards re-introduction.
And while it is hard to breathe smoothly while thinking of you,
it is not so bad as when I have to see you in person.
Not as tough as when I’ve had to touch you.
But this is something, isn’t it?
It’s a start.
I have to leave you now,
but I’ll be back.