In a world of shrivel and wilt
When what we need is seed and sprout
I am neither gather nor grow
I am wither and rot
TDM
Author: Teresa
I like to write. Just give me a journal and pen, leave me in a corner, and I will be immeasurably happy.
Hug from Nonna
I hug my Nonna twice a year:
On her birthday
And on mine
But only because I engage
I announce the occasion
Buon compleano!
Lean in
And wrap one arm around her shoulders
I love you
I love you too
A kiss on the cheek
Maybe
But more likely reserved
For milestone occasions
TDM
Lying on a Rock
I disengaged myself
And let every tender vertebra
Feel as pious as
The stone
They were held upon
And reaching overhead
In my supinated situation
I gasped
And let my hands fall to
The pate of the rock
Connecting them like
A halo
Twisting my fingers
Around my own locks
Tangling them between the crown
On my head
Where the coolness of
The stone had met my skull
Supporting it
TDM
Some Words
I am
Thinking now
About the sensation
Of dirty toes tickling
The cool brush
My back outstretched on bank
Of lily pad bay
My eyes wide
Focused on tufts drifting across
Big sky
Where lonely is
A suitcase with the bare
Essentials
Essence of secrecy in
The gazes exchanged
Between me,
what waxing cycle will have me
And the essence of nobody
To trust in translation
No body
To speak my version of
Barefoot back to me
Wish
To wish and
wish and
wish to be
gentle
clothed only in magnetic
silence
would be my bliss
TDM
You
You took my inhibitions
And turned them inside out
In the most timely manner
So that at your convenience
You could call me
Sweet
Lovely
Beautiful
Quirk
A joke to you
But had you known
I was accustom to manners
Of flight
You would not have been
So inclined
In your attempt to
Flatter
You would have figured
Out so quickly that
I would crush
You with a look
Of discontentment so
Incessantly putrid
That you would be forced
To your hands and knees
Where my amusement
Would be your wretch
TDM
Andrew
You were trying to be
a Kerouac
When you led me
from subway to streetcar
To marbled sidewalk
and thought you were adventure
Looking for old doorways on Bay
Where I knew there were none
And you were trying to make me
your Queen Anne’s Lace
So I would be
gentle with your secrets
sooth your eccentricities
and unravel your spirit
But I was the seedling of
a dogwood flower
And led you
From subway to streetcar
To tall grass footpath
And thought I was adventure
In convincing you
to cascade backwards between
dandelion and dew
to match my wavelength
which was unravelling itself between
the blades of grass
as though the meadow were
a maze leading straight
to your disposition
TDM
Summer Heat
I need some opinions on this one. Is it complete or does it have a long way to go? Please comment below with any thoughts. Thank you kindly.
I could tickle the shade
on a day like today,
musky odour (I admit)
emitting from my “delicate” temple
whose flustered
along with my will
to make happy with
they
who step lightly and grin
while I drip
and drop
and drag myself onward
through what seems like concrete Sahara
Ugly
I have forgotten myself many times
mostly on purpose
I have made days go by without saying hello to
a mirror
and have been even better
at making nights disappear
suffocating myself under blankets
the easiest place to be
where words are muffled
and sounds elude me.
TDM
If I had a Son
If I had a son
I’d name him Jonah
And for the first time I’d be in
Love
With teetering tot
Melting into white cotton
Sheets twisted
around bits of
Twig and sand sprinkled
between the folds of socks
that have slid off of
tiny toes
That I could collect
without disturbing
my love
who
After a long day of
Travelling through backyards
And almost making it over
the swing set is
slow burning
grace
resting gentle
face
TDM
Word Vomit of the Imaginary Traveler
I have gone on many paper adventures, pages and pages of text have carried me up and up, far, far away. Daydreams and sleepy dreams have comforted my thoughts and set an imaginary trail behind me. Footsteps through cobblestone pathways, sipping dark coffee, following lamppost moons. Then tracking through snowy banks, heavy feet and runny nose, breathing in crisp frost, windy tears wiping away snowflakes that land on cheeks. Sun baked faces turning red as gazes are lifted, trailing the side of ancient monument and sand castle. Silk or linen draped across wandering eyes, highlighted colours amongst sepia and terra cotta. Crickets keeping souls awake in the night, a reminder to feed the fire to keep the warmth from escaping the tent, so that catching fireflies is a little bit more interesting. Though harder to see them in flame light, it is better for roasting marshmallows. Stopping by a stream to sip or splash water in the cracking faces and worn boots. Stopping by the side and peeling off jackets to rest heads on, stones to prop tired feet upon. And finally listening to ocean swells with active ears and quiet faces, being sprayed with salty mist. Then to squish toes in the sand when the water has not covered them, scraping a heal on a little shell, a tiny home built in repetitive beauty, swirling and twirling curves. The shell made of soft pinks and yellows, like the canvas stretching far beyond the rolling and bouncing waves, going going on until hidden by blues, lighter, then darker, then burst of silver overhead. Twinkle to preserve some light for walking home in, howls to bid goodnight.
TDM
