3WW: Bloody, Kinky, Tender

There is only one
little smear
of morning sunlight
left on my kitchen floor.  

I woke up too late
to enjoy a couple hours
of solitude.

He's already making
awake noises
so this will have to be
a quick poem.  

Too bad I can't think
of anything
to write about.  

No bloody emotions
lately. No kinky past-
times to secretly enjoy.
My days have been

unusually soft and tender
like a mound  
of bread dough

we've been kneading
and kneading and, finally,
it can rest and rise. And I think
he's even fallen back to sleep.

One Single Impression: Shells

Shells

She's wearing
her Hello Kitty
bathing suit
today. We walk
along the beach
at Cayo Costa
State Park
in Florida.
We are looking
for butterfly shells.

That's what Kylie
calls them. When
they are open,
they look like they
could fly away.
Her favorites
are pure white
like angel wings.
Mine are the ones
that look like sunrises.

She finds a half one
and picks it up
to discover
it's still alive.
She helps it
back to the water.
"If the shell is empty,
does that mean
it's dead?" she asks.
"I'm afraid so."

She's quiet for a moment.
"My dad took a bunch
of pills and I
couldn't wake him up."
We walk hand-in-hand
for a minute. "You
we're so smart
to call your mom
and get help for him."
I squeeze her hand.

She bends down
to pick up another shell.
This one is pale pink.
She examines it
for life and finds
it pulsing.
In the water it goes.
"Let's just look
for live ones
from now on."

Sunday Scribblings: Reflect

Reflect

Two bicycles
and a palm tree
are upside down,

reflected
in the mirror
of our canal.

I'd rather be on
one of those bikes
pedaling to the beach

but, all I can do
is capture
the freedom

(of wind slipping
through my curls
and filling

my cheeks
with its laughter,
of my feet

running
through the air,
of escaping)

in the lens
of this poem.
Click.

3WW: Fragrant, Jostle, Remnant

Canteloupe sky
behind a palm tree

jostles my eyes
awake. The remnant

of last night's disappointment
shrinks as the sun

peeks from behind
the fronds. A new day

winks. My eyes fill
with possibilities,

again. The fragrance
of hope is a sunrise.

It's just too bright.
I close my eyes,

wait for you to wake up.
I become less and less.

Sunday Scribblings: The Rest of the Story

The Rest of the Story

The clock is ticking
seconds away
one after another.

I try to catch the clicks
but they dissipate
into the past

faster than my hands
can grab. I've been
up early waiting

for the sunrise
but my living room
remains gray.

I could be cooking
breakfast, making
something special

for my husband.
I could be starting
the laundry.

I could be updating
my blog. Instead,
I sit on the couch

in a rainstorm of lost
seconds...oh, wait,
I just snatched

a few and they turned
into words, like pearls
that I'm stringing

together, a necklace
of not-so-wasted time
on a sunless morning.

I fasten it around my neck.
I'll wear theses moments
all day. The clock ticks on.

3WW: Downhill, Freak, Sliver

Downhill, Freak, Sliver

I sleep later
now that I am
on the downhill
side of life.

Most mornings
I miss the sun
coloring with her
orange crayon.

I awake to watery
yellow and sigh,
but I don't freak
anymore about my age.

I'm letting retirement
carry me along
like a leaf
floating by

in our canal,
buoyant
in the swelling
tides.

I close my eyes,
feel the sun,
and enjoy this last
sliver of time.

Sunday Scribblings: Tribe

My Tribe

Kylie is in the guest room
with Danielle
playing a game,
their voices
like Christmas bells
ringing in my heart.

My husband and son
are sitting on the porch
talking about boats,
watching the water
in the canal
float by.

My daughter is not here
but back in NH
working,
making a safe
life for her
daughter

I'm in the kitchen
chopping onions,
red bell peppers,
and celery
for macaroni salad
humming a soft tune.