1.
Dawn floods the canvas of winding
roads,
where on dune buggy rides we sang,
“You are my sunshine,” while
blowing kisses.
Because straddling fences was less
enticing,
we crossed underneath the barbed
wire.
Swimming like mermaids, we skinny dipped.
That was enough to draw fire into
flannel blankets, our hands intertwined across meridians of time, where God
dropped tears like streaking stars in the embers of the night.
2.
The pointed kayak divides reeds of
chirping crickets. The baby claps at beavers and the rainbow trout frolics in
the shallow swathe.
The stories of forgotten lore are
all on pages in the bind, fringed
with ladybugs,
Indian paintbrushes and pictures of
kid sized paleontologists holding rust buckets full of excavated mineralites
and old junk. The crumpled papers were not flattened.
That old woman in the wigwam kept
them up, storms thundering, wolves
howling.
She told secrets with twinkling
eyes
and tortilla flattened chips from
the brick oven.
3.
The unicorn fish and sea horses were
caught in the tide of crashing waves on the shoreline.
They were tumbling sideways as we
lay, under the surface. The filibusters of yellow tang dorsal fins filled our masks,
while the regulator let out oxygen migrating to the top.
We were floating like sea kelp in
our bliss,
searching for long yellow strands
of sod
blended into braided manes with
ponytails on the horizon. Land ho, the golden fortress is beaming in the noon
time. Sandals and pails scatter like seagulls taking flight.
(an expository from: our family
trips)
Thank you Dr. Brantley for helping me edit/write this poem. :)
Comments
Post a Comment