I would skip
rocks
with my feet plunged into moss
curl my toes underneath mud
grip myself
turning a stone over in my hand
weighing it with every rotation
to make sure it wouldn’t just
plunk
to the bottom of the brook
though if it did
it would not be lonely
because there are plenty of others
who have
sunk
to the
bottom
and nestled themselves
even after they’ve skidded the rapids.
TDM
If only i could lie
in the grass for more
than just a little while
I could graze the atmosphere
with my drifting eyes
turning my head this way and
that way
I’d twitch my ears
to tune them to the sound
of daffodils being kissed
by tiny insects
I could wipe my nose clean and
inhale perfumed stardust
that would shake itself off
and hitch a ride on currents
golden flecks falling through my hair
hovering first like a halo
and I would not mind nibbles
from creatures polite enough
to make their presence known
take what they need and then leave.
TDM
It has been a long time
Since I have listened to chirping or
A flutter
A far cry from usual territory
Out of range by a long
Shot
Beats
Like a propeller, where there is a chill
In the air
Retreat
Or do not if your bones permit
If your fragility
Has not caught up with you
And your garb is puffed and fluffed
In flight you are
Formidable
On solid ground
You are canvass and backdrop
All in one
Swoop
Glide
In a most translucent way
That there may be less chance
Of foul and etched irritants
From gilded feathers
Plucked
Of a nuisance
TDM
the trees are polite
they bow to the wind
whenever it pushes through clouds
and knocks upon their cracked bark,
their aged and writhed skin,
contours of time shaped by the hand
of everything,
blushes as gusts brush upon them
like the touch of a lover’s face
pressed against a lover’s face,
comfort, sweet and warm
to contrast rough and gritty,
overwhelm these monuments,
make their leaves shake and whisper
to one another, excitedly.
TDM
With so many tears
A dismal life of clutter
And not
Having anything of value
Not a one
Decent face
with whom
To bid the morning anew
Sallow and pale
A cause for no real
Alarm
Nothing permanent to cling to
Not in object defying
Wasteland
Sleepless nights
Tangled sheets for one
With so many tears
For lights out
Without any bed time story
II
With so many tears
A hopeful breath familiar
And with
Attentive nods and grins
Always
A lovely face
with whom to
Tuck away the evening and
bid the morning anew
A smitten tide of
Suitable love,
Of comfort,
Of
Mind at ease and
Simple pace of thoughts
Heart still racing
With excited touch
Lights out
With promise of bed time stories
TDM
It has been a long time
Since I have listened to chirping or
A flutter
A far cry from usual territory
Out of range by a long
Shot
Beats
Like a propeller, where there is a chill
In the air
Retreat
Or do not if your bones permit
If your fragility
Has not caught up with you
And your garb is puffed and fluffed
In flight you are
Formidable
On solid ground
You are canvass and backdrop
All in one
Swoop
And glide
In a most translucent way
That there may be less chance
Of foul and etched irritants
From gilded feathers
Plucked
Of a nuisance.
TDM
I could tell it was storming, but not for the sound of thunder or rain. The window frame was plastered so well that I could hear no sounds from the outside, but I could see the drops falling and the trees whipping in the wind. Flashes of light struck the dark room and made Caroline visible. She seemed so much smaller underneath all those covers. I didn’t think there was anything that could make her petite frame look any frailer than it already did. When insomnia took me, and it so often did, I sat on the end of Caroline’s bed and rubbed her legs. So far, she hadn’t been woken by this, but I swear I could hear her sigh when I started massaging. When the snoring came, I knew she had drifted off properly and I could stop rubbing her little legs. Caroline would fight with anyone who mentioned the fact that she snored. No way did she snore. Snoring was for boys and old grandpas with bad breath and white hair.
Sometimes I imagined what it would be like if Caroline and I lived in the country. The grass would be lush and green wherever we could see it, and the wheat fields would be golden like the stars that hung above them at night. I pictured the two of us lying in the grass with the moon over our heads and fireflies dancing around like fairies. We would probably swap stories and rhymes and point out the Milky Way. Maybe we would lie like this forever.
I moved to the window, my bare feet patting against the cold grey floor, and saw that the rain had stopped; something to look forward to, a clear day, made it easier to rest when I returned to my bed. I kept my hands on the bed, trying not to touch myself, as the hours drifted away and the sun finally came up. By eight o’clock the entire room had been filled with the morning light.
I left the hospital that morning having not slept more than three hours. I couldn’t help but think about the look Caroline gave me as I bent over to kiss her sweet little forehead. Her eyes were wide, black and piercing, like eagle eyes that began to well up with tears. She smelled of jasmine and roses and cool summer nights, a mixture of scents that seemed to stick on her body and never leave.
I was glad to be home, certainly for the freedom of having windows that could open and the busy city as background noise instead of beeping machines and “paging doctor what’s his name.” I opened the window that faced Queen’s Park, and stood in front of it so that I could examine the trees. Most of the leaves had fallen, but those that remained on the branches were rusty coloured, red, orange and yellow. The breeze felt nice on my face, familiar and cozy like an old sweater. The air was frosty on the tip of my nose reminding me that the winter winds would soon be here to greet the city, as they always did.
That night I dreamt I was on a boat, rolling and bouncing along with the tide. I drifted farther and farther away from the coast, until the shore was no longer visible. The gulls in the sky were screeching so loudly that I covered my ears, and when I did, I lost control of the helm. The boat turned round and round, spinning faster with every turn, until the sea beneath me opened up into a whirlpool and swallowed my boat and I whole. And suddenly, it had stopped. The whirlpool turned into calm salt water, and I floated down down to the bottom, until I hit the ocean floor. I was not short of breath but instead fully capable of breathing under water. On the sides of my neck were slits that flapped with every breath I drew. In an instant, I had gills, scales and fins. I was a fish, and not one of those exotic, colourful fish either. I was a tuna.
I woke up in a sweat. I was very angry at my subconscious for turning me into a fish, and a tuna at that. I knew I was plain, but that was a little too modest, even for me.
TDM
