After

source

She wraps herself in sheets

stained with tears and sweat

She has been stripped

of something vital

that she can't quite name

It makes no sense-

She had wished it all away

but still,

there was an undeniable connectedness

She makes the sign of the cross

though she stopped believing long ago

She closes her eyes

feels between her legs

She bleeds

a broken poem.

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Open Link Monday
and The Sunday Whirl, Wordle 181

Some Things You Never Forget

I remember

Waking early that morning 

Worrying

Staying home from school with feigned sickness

but really feeling sick

Waiting for the parents to leave

Taking the test kit hidden in my bedroom to the bathroom

Reading the directions more times than needed

Filling the test tube, adding the solution, waiting

Pacing

Counting the minutes

I remember

Looking at the test tube

Seeing the “doughnut” floating in the glass

Sweating, heart racing, nauseated, terrified

Pregnant

Throwing the test tube down the sewer

Walking to school in a trance

Praying for it all to be a dream

I remember

Peeking in the little window in the door of his classroom

Making eye contact

Shaking my head

Lowering my tear filled eyes

Him slamming his head down on the desk

Not looking back up

Going to history class

Aching to awaken.

submitted for Poets United, Verse First, I Remember

Dear Miz Erma

You were no kin of mine

but I looked after you like one of my own

You were demanding and ungrateful

fractious and fussy

persnickety and grumpy

and no matter when I came

I was late

You never even learned my name

but whenever I think of you

I can't help but smile

Love,

The Other White Girl

The Shell Collector II

photo courtesy of Magpie Tales

 Empty of meat

You say you are a shell

No life within

But I see your fragile beauty

I know you are leaving

I see you grow smaller each day

You long to return to the sea 

When you are gone

What will I have of you?

Memories 

     are slippery things

Silvery minnows 

     that dart away

When you try to hold them in your hands

If a shell is all that you leave behind

Then I will treasure the shell

Shades of Summer Red

photo courtesy of Poetry Jam

Fizzy cold Cherry Splash soda

if we are really lucky or

Sugary sweet red Kool Aid

bright enough to stain our lips

if it's for us

Watered down to a paler vintage
to sell for 3 cents a Dixie Cup
from the Radio Flyer wagon

Come evening the booty is exchanged 
for cherry popsicles 
from the Good Humor man

We never have the patience to save up

for the Strawberry Shortcake bars 
we really covet

Skinned knees and scraped elbows

from falling off our bikes

or from playing maul ball 
with the older kids

On occasion, a loose tooth knocked clean out

leaving a bloody hole and bragging rights

The stench of rotting crab apples

squishing under bare feet 

running across the lawn

through the sprinklers

watering  the fire red azaleas

and the bricks on the house fronts

Someone's mom pokes out her head and calls

we scatter

Like gnats being shooed away

Until we gather again

submitted for Poetry Jam

One Shot Wednesday, Week 49,  at One Stop Poetry

Poetry Pantry 52 at Poets United

Sugar

Playing dress-up

With Nana's jewelery

When I was a kid

Rooting through dresser drawers

For baubles and trinkets

To pose in front of her gilded mirror

Tucked away

Under some handkerchiefs and scarves

And the ever present scented soap

I spy an old shoebox

A treasure too tempting for little hands

Not to open

Inside I find

Not money

Or jewels

Or even boring, old letters

But packets of sugar

Probably hundreds of them

Like the kind they have at restaurants

I run to Nana

Giggling

Ask why do you have a bunch of sugar 

In a box

In your dresser?

I don't remember exactly what she said

But it was something like

"Just in case."


written for May Poetry Challenge, Sugar, Verse in a Nutshell

Cherry Blossoms (For Dad)

When cherry blossoms bloom, I think of you

We walked the Tidal Basin, just us two

The April wind was messing up my hair

But that afternoon I didn't care

I was happy just to talk and see the view.

When snow begins to melt and spring is new

Purple crocus, robins, grass with dew

The kites rise up to meet clouds in the air

When cherry blossoms bloom.

When I was younger and my fears were few

On mountain roads on back your bike I flew

Now it seems those flowers are more rare

I close my eyes and offer up a prayer

Sometimes I wonder if you hear it too

When cherry blossoms bloom.

submitted for Poetry Jam, Inaugural, Birthday
also for Potluck Poetry, Color, Spring, and Rainbows, at Jingle Poetry
and Poetry Jam, Fathers

Memories

image source

 Like stars in the sky

Memories light the darkness

Help us find our way

submitted for May Poetry Challenge, Day 7, Memories at Verse in a Nutshell

Remember When?

image courtesy of Theme Thursday

Remember when the TV said goodnight?

The anthem played then all was static white?

We had the volume turned down really low

'Twas past our bedtime; parents didn't know

We giggled with excitement and with fright.

Remember  when we wished with all our might

To find ice cream in the milk box shining bright?

But most weeks only eggs and milk you know

Remember when?

Remember when the days were pure delight?

Running to the field to fly our kite?

Your back was to the wind you hoped would blow

As the string spun through your fingers like a pro

And we soared up there with it taking flight

Remember when?

submitted for Theme Thursday, April 21, 2011

Creative Memories

photograph by India Hobson

She takes scissors and glue to her past

Memories can be recast

A picture here, a picture there

A collage of images hazy and fair.

Creating memories page by page

Erasing the pain, replacing the rage

The friend who betrayed her is once again true

By deft rearranging, old boyfriends are too.

A friendship that died from a hurtful word

Now vibrant with laughter that can almost be heard

Photoshop fixes the postpartum blues

A glowing new mother she'll carefully choose.

She's tired of memories less than ideal

She'll trash scraps of life that don't hold appeal

Forgetting the parts she wants to conceal

Her scrapbook life will become what is real.

submitted for Potluck Poetry, Week 29, Photographs, Memories, and Nostalgia

also submitted for Poetry Clambake

and One Shoot Sunday at One Stop Poetry