Details |
Lauren Hornaday Poem
A woodland path in the dappled sun
Hushed and quiet
The scar of years of footsteps
A vein the runs through nature
Like blood through my limbs
A historical emblem of numerous journeys
Nameless travelers
With a common destination
As clearly, not a foot has strayed
This woodland path
The essense of mystery
Proof of life's history
Stories of exploration and movement we will never know
Except that they existed
The sun sparkles and flickers through the trees
Down to this woodland path
On which
I feel very small
And very humble and young
And very real.
A Woodland Path 6/9/11
Lauren Hornaday
Copyright © Lauren Hornaday | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Lauren Hornaday Poem
I am a fan of jeans
They are a symbol of my free spirited nature
My strength and feminine fearlessness
And my choice to move freely
And my equality with men
But only a man
Could take the empowerment away from my beloved denim
With trashy advertising
And sexually explicit, offensive rap songs
That focus not on the jeans but on how my ass looks in them
However in my disgust
At the degredation
Of the statement of evolutionary change
Made by a woman in jeans
I stay thankful
That at least I don't have to worry about them trying to sneak a peek up my skirt
Lauren Hornaday
All in the Jeans
6/9/11
Copyright © Lauren Hornaday | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Lauren Hornaday Poem
For four years my relationship survived
On collect phone calls
Around which I scheduled my life
And Saturday afternoon visits
Leave the house at 11am
For the long drive through Sin City
Out of town and through the desert
To sit outside with the same familiar faces
All nameless
Waiting for our inmate's name to be called
And hoping our outfits aren't too tight, too blue, or too short
For four years
Our "date night" consisted of microwave hamburgers, mini bags of chips, and bottles
of soda
Purchased from the row of vending machines along the wall
Paid for in quarters from my regulation clear plastic bag
For four years
Our physical fulfillment came from
One kiss in
One kiss out
Holding hands across the table
Knees touching
This is what I looked forward to
The least lonely day of a series of lonely days
Summing up to four years
But eventually he got out
The dream each of those nameless faces was waiting to come true, was true
No more collect calls
No more prepaid accounts
No more rides to the middle of nowhere
No more strategic outfits or getting patted down or bags of quarters
We made it
Clueless of the coming fallout
The aftereffects
The struggles and expectations
Suddenly aware of the lies that we told ourselves to get us through
And that incarceration wasn't the only thing preventing happiness
All I know now
Is that the phone won't ring anymore at 8pm
And on Saturday I sleep in and do laundry
I don't go anywhere so I don't get dressed up
He is trying to figure life out
And I am still sitting around waiting
Only now the waiting is endless
We might be out of prison
But prison won.
Copyright © Lauren Hornaday | Year Posted 2011
|
Details |
Lauren Hornaday Poem
Fun is strange to me
Is it not a waste of time?
Rolling ball knocks down pins
We'd be in the dark right now
If Ben Frank made this his route
By Lauren Hornaday
Copyright © Lauren Hornaday | Year Posted 2011
|