Match Made In Heaven
My voice
Alive with tone
Yet sharply censored
By a mind's take on years
Of historical notes
Tongue no longer sweetened
By optomism
Or spiced with
Mischievous humor
Suddenly all I taste is
So dry
So predictably dull
Night steps forward quickly
Like a woman whose
High heels carry her too loudly
Over hardwood floors
I hear her sharp
And definite approach
Darkness surrounds me
Like mink
Soft to the touch
But cruel in creation
I lay my head down
And begin to dream
My lonely place in the
Darkness opens
Like a curtain
To reveal a carnival scene
Where pale pink cotton candy
Weaves itself gracefully
Around paper cones
I taste the
Incredible sweetness
Its pure reminiscent aroma
So filling with the
Portrayal of childhood innocence
A time lost and
So light in texture
I draw the moment in deep
To remember it well
My grandmother is with me now
Baking her rhubarb pie
Picked fresh from the garden
I'm sitting at her table
A bright-yellow vinyl tablecloth
Neatly drapes itself around
Oval-shaped wood
Loud carnival music
Compliments my meal
I open my mouth wide
Grandmother, serving the perfect balance
Of sweet and spice,
Says softly
"Eat child...Eat"
And then walks away
Alone now
I see the faint outline
Of a crowd in the distance
Lining up to take their turn
On the Ferris Wheel
I'm driven to the
Perfectly straight horizon
Vividly painted beyond
And to them
A wise-cracking clown
Accompanies me
Telling off-color jokes
And showing me "the ropes"
On how to effectively
Cut in line
I see my lover
Jeans torn and hair
Perfectly backlit by
The midday sun
He is at the front of the line
He is waiting
For me
All those behind him now
Have grown impatient
After all
It's been
A very
Very
Long time
The clown presses my hand
Firmly to my lover's
Like a rose forever saved
Between brittle pages
And with a wink
Waves goodbye
The crowd is cheering now
As brightly-colored balloons
Lift up
Released
They have found
Their rightful place
In the sky
Copyright © Sandra Smith | Year Posted 2005
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