The little pieces you picked up.
The little pieces you carried once
in your hands,
held next to your body,
smeared onto your skin,
tugging at you:
the fragments you hold on to—
the ones you did not want to leave behind.
From “Spring’s Resurrection”
April’s not the cruelest month,
but a warm resurrection.
From “Severed Roots”
But the rainy season never came
and the drought never left.
as I scraped back bare soil—
the earth I once remembered—
the remnants of what I started with.
From “Commuter’s Tears”
Oil rainbows evaporated in the rain,
leaving only the memory behind.
Poetry prompt for the day:
#2 Write a poem of regret. Maybe it is a poetic apology. Maybe it was something you did. Or maybe it is something you didn’t do.
From “Acid Rain”
…devoid of the yellow jackets that normally
my feet, as I danced a rhythm of thunder
beneath the sky lightning.
Excerpt from “Dust”
I don’t know where
these pieces fit,
or if they are even mine,
but I feel they are,
whether they are all with me,
clinging to my body
or still behind in that box
that remains unopened in the corner
marked kitchen goods.
Thank you, Alaska Women Speak, for accepting my poem “Play Along” for the Winter Social Media issue. As always, I appreciate AWS’ support. Check out this great Alaskan magazine at alaskawomenspeak.org.