things I wished to show her. My dear sweet dove,
I called her, for at night she warbles; she sings
like me for solace and wisdom from above
the rafters and dried leaves on trees.
We both make giggles on bended knees.
The light of stars and the tender scent of wheat
I meant her to have, the sun tickling her hair
and making it shine like an apple, the kind you eat
and not just place lonely on a table and stare
with pencils and charcoal or perhaps some paint and brush.
Such beauty, such truth must take ample time with no rush.
My daisy cousin; my hippie friend with braids
tied swiftly on her head. I simply cannot forget
to open her flushed eyes, her two portals with the aid
of her kind yet strong hands so that she might let
her strength finally meet her story told;
that gentle; that misunderstood; that gold.
I wanted her to feel hope in me but it died; dead
like the buried carcass of her sister's beloved cat.
I made note the potions and magics festering in my head,
but what normal person would have interest in that?
She and I certainly found comfort in such things
for we were both bred from imaginary queens; not kings.
Our Lady Sovereign; our Mother Earth did but call
to us whilst we were fresh in bloom. The sun
became our secret keeper. And with backs to the wall
we strut in harmony; two kindred spirits with none
to answer to. I live in her to free
a world iced over with hate and greed;
a world lost; a conquered sea of red
that burns through us and wounds us deeply
like thorns under the skin; rocks under the bed.
We carry the burden; little support thrown cheaply
to all but us. Alone we must stand;
heart in mind; soul in sight; hand in hand.
One day, I called on her for care,
a Kleenex to a runny nose. She softly replied
with sighs like coos and kind words of rare
quality and simplicity; and perfect words I tried
to use with others in order to make
a life worth living; a life not to take.
She and I, we favor the smell of rainy days,
the sky in loud sobs, echoing our sorrow
and making us feel wanted; making us stay
a little longer, giving us another tomorrow.
Our fear abides to hidden spaces;
eyes and hands hung low alongside heavy faces.
We are rare; genuine; unique, us two.
The purest of diamonds. The softest of clouds.
I lift her and she lifts me and together we make through
the darkest of times and the thickest of crowds.
For thriving in a tattered world must be
a little bit of her and a tiny part of me.
November 24, 2009
