Forgotten Roads

Big Sky Road by Ella Wilson

You love to walk the forgotten roads,

the ones with weedy, overgrown shoulders

and missing road signs,

orphaned roads

that let you turn down the volume

on the clatter and chatter,

 feel the earth under your feet

and watch cloud shapes coalesce above.

Forgotten roads

let you take time

to remember

your name.

They don't hurry you

to get anywhere;

they honor you

right where you are.

Even as the milky clouds 

grow ashen and somber,

you walk.

You walk 

as raindrops tease,

then course down in a cavalry of wet.

In the petrichor

you smell the birth of another chance

and feel yourself

cleansed of artifice,

shining like a new penny

on the asphalt.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Ella's Edge

Of Tea and Names

"Teatime" from Ella's Edge

The day she couldn't find her name

started out like any other day

She made the coffee

kissed the husband

sent the kids off to school

and then realized it was missing

At first she thought she had simply left it

with the car keys

but no

She searched under the newspaper

in her coat pockets

and sweater drawer

even in the trashcan

but it wasn't anywhere

She tried to remember the last time

she had seen it

It was some time between her wedding 

and the last time she had finished a cup of tea

while it was still warm

"If I were a name, where would I be?"

she said to herself

then searched the dryer 

and found three lost socks

but no name

She considered taking out an ad

but couldn't decide on an appropriate reward

for finding a name

or, for that matter, how she could be sure

she would recognize it as hers 

and didn't want to take in the wrong one

After some thought 

she decided she needed a new name

The old one probably didn't fit any way

She began her search for a name

right after she brewed a pot of tea

and finished an entire cup

while it was still warm.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Sunday Challenge-Featuring Ellen Wilson

Time Out

"Time-Out" by Ella Wilson

I hope this bench is here when we are old

We'll rest when we grow tired from our walk

We'll reminisce of all the times we've strolled

These very streets as we watched life unfold

Or maybe we'll just hold hands and not talk.

submitted for Thursday Think Tank at Poets United