I dreamt last night I was in a ribbon-stitched competition & though its details are lost to the murky meanderings of sleep, the image of her cheering the loudest in the crowd stayed with me through the morning.
I’m tempted by stubborn clocks that tick on lemon-kissed walls to believe the world changes in the sunlight, but no matter the hour I hear her over the noise enthusiastically calling me home.
We approach the future as we do this deep fog: hopeful but still watching for shit between steps in the still sleeping field You suggest we walk towards the sun but I plan on a long journey & don’t want to walk in circles Instead we hold the light dear as it clears the mist ahead The field melts into a path of thistle- kissed sun-dipped clarity so we skip clean-shoed through the day.
I lost myself in discovery, crashing into the crushing essence of a back-of-the-closet suit I haven’t worn since the funeral. I’ve practiced the craft of nodding small talk since, though it fits as well as that old jacket. Some things I have no trouble throwing out, while others cling like a dryer sheet waiting to tumble from a shift sleeve. The program from the memorial is still in the inside breast pocket & I’m still a pall bearer struggling to carry the load while the powder blue jacket hides in the back but not forgotten.
And after forever the gin-flavored breeze remains like a tonic police sirens caught in the wind & blown miles off course bath water salty from the tide coming in, then out before silence collapses on us both and stars like beer-battered fish leap into Milky Way sauces.
In all the universe I chose my way but did not see her coming asteroids crash to make a new world of ocean-swept grounds the smell of coffee fireworks pop in approval an alarm shatters the dark alerting us to tides turning abruptly the first sound I’ve understood now sings in unison always.
She casually showed me her crystal ball but said the future is uncertain — creamy mist running in disorganized patterns to places out of focus. Sunlight filters through translucent spirits beyond the horizon, a glassy wind-swept silence on my elbow & she wearing a medium t-shirt.
Every soul glitters in a palpable pattern if you have the patience to look. She can look past my sins, beyond this body & its base elements down to the light that works loud patterns beckon the future come in its own time. She traces my luster in the globe, my aura reflected in her witch’s eye, tomorrow’s haze evaporated.
Written for dVerse’s Poetics: The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows. I chose Starlorn: a sense of loneliness looking up at the night sky, feeling like a castaway in the middle of the ocean, whose currents are steadily carrying off all other castaways.
This season demands so much attention it has two names, as if we could ignore Autumn without the Fall. October fans its leaves in vanity, colorfully spread like a peacock posing for photographs. The wind whistles through them as if it does us a favor. We’re listening.
The sun lazes low in the sky, refusing to climb higher, taunting us with tantalizing heat evaporating in the atmosphere just beyond our reach.
The leaves eat the grass in November swallow the ground completely until all I hear is the chewing underfoot. The wind blows silent through pursed lips, impotent in the cacophony crunching colorfully under marching feet pressing towards December and the frost.
No matter how proud the season it must give way to the next, one generation follows another thinking it knows better & it always Falls the same.
You smuggled a spreadsheet into the Christmas party and sat in the corner while the host served greetings from a -moon-rock-colored- platter decorative holly garnish threatening to devour a pockmarked planet
You said the numbers didn’t add up so I reviewed your every cell until we were both satisfied
Mercury the messenger carries the one around the sun we make a silent night of the party.