Sprouted from similar boxes
that masked hard work and sacrifice
looks were put together from magazines
books helped them to name their babies.
A syndicated orchestra of the lawn mower contemporary
the comfortable, monotonous hum
competition for neon patches of an outstanding variety
encouraged drama at the community pool.
They said they mayor fell prey to scandal
and City Hall is where the teens taught Safety Town.
His son taught me to drive one night
dodging signs from a rusted truck of whimsy.
We had bonfires to roast our doubts
and celebrate myopic integrity
battling with ideas and singing popular music loudly
to offend the woman with diapers and mace.
She took me to a country club one sunny day
sparkling water and tennis
a rebel against direction that never came
adventure was a cruise ship vacation.
Geometric Rooms by Esther Stocker
Phones, the post-modern frontal lobe
I deleted everything from it related to you
except for one voice message, the last one
it reminds me why it was worth all the fuss.
The events and rhythms of a season long revered
bring forth tiding and a sweet nostalgia for
remedy and restoration.
The things that occured to me last night included:
A.) I’d rather not be here
B.) Other superficial things I’d rather not say.
Us women enjoy the ability to jump to conclusions. It’s simple mental storyboarding of an alternate reality based on the perfections we’d prefer to see in any given scenario.
And I’d rather take on the failures of others
than become aware of my own.
but failures and heartbreak
like achievements and love
are badges worn with pride
war wounds defining our identity –
milestones to which we measure growth.
my dream of you in Boston, C
I couldn’t please you
I was never enough.
Only a fool pursues weapons that self-inflict.
it never occurred to us how tough it is
how negative and brusing
tender pieces of fruit are rarely sold
but mornings never mind.
When I was ready to leave
you were here, in my heart
I’m proud of the admittance
of a blissful ignorance in a slighted world.
A is for antidote
B is for benediction
C is for cost
Artwork by See-One
daylight peeks through our best plans
twilight seeps in quickly
the monumental times we had are gone
dry toast and a cup of tar coffee.
emotional underpinnings of a bottomless youth
a gap from then until now
games grow weary of our manipulations
reality quietly taps on a door nailed shut.
overgrown with weeds and ill-fated figures
of what we once were, the clock turns back
when comfort kicks in.
The coming hours will be daunting
filled with unknown risks with unwritten rules.
Temporary feelings are gingerly placed
borrowed, tested, perhaps real and true.
The gambling of trust is vague and remote
released with a startling splash
identifying emotions from a more perilous time
Am I good enough? I’m good enough for what may come.