Reheating seaweed soup
scooped and steeped from the Milky Way
rummaging sharply into the corners of torn memory
my unripe mother flickers like a candle watching the soup boil
There is no sieve to strain the light of her face that day
yet a cotton quilt smile that could soothe even icicles
a yearning for tomorrow holding starlight pooled within
the fluttering back of my twenty two year old mother
The remaining warmth in the seaweed soup she ate back then
seeping into my time grown heavy as it slowly reduces
tapping my worn and weathered pupils
engraving bitter salty tenacious footprints
Before the birthday dawn dries away
even if only in the haze of a dream
it would be good to see my mother as she was that young day
Peter (my bf) and I are keeping it modest, practicing the art of the small things. Among our repertoire of pleasures are simple conversations, after long, exhaustive school days, in non-technical language.
Shall we wax poetic-ish?
Ever, my heart had blazed as if branded by fire.
Then love finally arrived to sweetly quench that unseen, smoldering blaze..
Fate, for a while, like scissors, came between us.
But having thus far proceeded, I did sorely miss the confections of closeness.
So, I shamelessly plotted to conjure sordid-reunions.
You may damn the force of my weaknesses and think me devilish,
but I am, after all, a living, female thing.
Do I relive that awful trauma? No, living in the past is like reheating nachos.
No one wants that.
Or do we? We take so many pictures, now-a-days.
Are we sore afraid of losing our yesterdays?
.
.
Songs for this:
matters of the heart by lovlaine
Oh Honey! (I Love You) by Peach Tree Rascals
Backyard Boy by Claire Rosinkranz
heating the
casarole a third time
flat cola
Moths flutter
anxious
Windows prevent
entry
Saturday
Turkey remains
reheating
Dark falls upon us
plump moon sliver blushing
Stars race into view
In patterns
familiar
Another sunset
missed
In too busy
Moments
Changing leads
Blindly
Deftly
Oblivious
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