Natural light preferable to artificial – not the harsh fullness of noonday sun but softly filtered rays – luxurious, inviting. Love too, should be subdued,
September is chilly mornings and classroom routines, cardigans dragged home, and the onset of colds. Grandma packs her bag with activities to distract, a soup
We’ll buy a boat, he promised, spend our days adrift on a sea of possibilities. So, she waited, tethered her hopes with ropes of whimsy
Pot-bellied, am I: misshapen by age and gravity – more rot than plump ripe pear – still, a vessel for love – grandmotherly vase.
Brought you my pain – swaddled like a baby, a tiny fledgling not yet ready to fly – craved nurturing – missed the hawkish glint,
Said his name was Orion, “light of Heaven” – starry-eyed, I succumbed godlike presence, I believed, could walk on water – but his light fast