New Life, so seemingly fragile,
Blooms, stretches, yawns into existence
Her entire cycle ahead still,
As she tries on her persistence,
And sleeps off her resistance.
The beauty in the fresh blossom
Sings of hope and resurrection,
Winter left us solid, solemn,
Frozen in derelict dejection,
Seeking warmer affections.
New Life breaks like sunrise,
Like a thief into the strongman’s purse,
Bringing a swift demise
To the fallow curse:
The icy hearse.
How I yearn for lightness,
The unflinching faith
That lifts the unblemished face
To smile at the fists of time.
I recall laughter
Bubbling from deep soul,
Nothing to dampen, nor console
Boundless joy.
My days got old.
My thoughts, so heavy,
Watch children skip steady
On feet of hope and wonder.
I am atrophied
Or else I would sing,
Dance, lose everything
To skip in lightness again.
My waffle iron is an old man
who groans as he bestows
dried parcels and dark stories
from breakfasts long ago.
My waffle iron is an old man,
whose joints creak and shake
and every lifting of his head
is another threat of break.
My waffle iron is an old man
though my children leap with vim
and run and dance along their way;
He can’t keep up with them.
The coffee pot sputters me awake.
My children color while their waffles bake-
The younger one loves what the older one makes
So as a show of admiration she takes it
and runs away. They call me, the judge, to break
the disagreement. Pleading their case so I will slake
their thirst for justice, and I agree and forsake
My kitchen station- My mistake.
I restore peace then return for the sake
Of waffles burning, big black flakes
Into the trash- everything brakes.
We sit with what remains. We partake
Together.
And when these perfect days are over,
How will they ever be replaced
With anything but ache?
My children smell of grass
And garden hoses-
All knees and elbows,
And sunburnt noses.
So eager for the comfort
Of shade and clean clothes,
They curl up in my arms,
My gift of repose.
And I can’t wash this off,
Not with years of soap.
My children smell of grass,
And laughter, and hope.
viewingcamelot 