storing memoriesMy seventh birthday goes in the plastic tub with the cracked lid. (Gray dawn, frost crunching beneath my shoes, perfect icicles hanging from every tree limb.)storing memories
Meteor showers are packed into an empty puzzle box-- blankets, hot chocolate, no bedtime, sibling rivalry exchanged for silent awe. (I wonder if those nights were when I first fell in love with the stars.)
A warped cardboard box holds my eighth Christmas, when the world was safe and no bigger than a circle of candlelight and the sound of our voices singin
letters to my daughterDear daughter: failure is inevitable. If you take after me, you'll never learn to accept that.letters to my daughter
Dear daughter: I'll answer before you ask-- no, there is no limit to the evil things humans do to each other.
Dear daughter: I haven't made mistakes with you yet because you haven't been born-- but I will, and I'm already sorry.
Dear daughter: don't believe everything the stories tell you. Love isn't always enough.
Dear daughter: it's been said, but I think it bears repeating: everyone dies alone.
the killing frostThe cold bites early this year. It starts, as always, at dawn and dusk--just a whisper, a hint of teeth in the wind, the smell of arctic ice in the air.the killing frost
I have food to store up for winter, autumn songs to sing-- with hands raised to the harvest moon, with voice entreating, One more day. One more day.
I have fruit still on the vine, to guard from frost with warmth and fire through coal-dark bitter nights.
I have prayers to pray by morning, standing on the frozen grass, watching all that is green turn to ice. &nb
paper cranes and picket fencesi am folding you one thousand paper cranes because it is all we have left.paper cranes and picket fences
legend says that if i fold one thousand paper cranes, i will get a wish. i could wish for a pair of iridescent wings or an ocean in a teacup or just to finally be happy again, but i don't want any of that--with every crane i fold i am imagining you. one crane for the circles under your eyes, one crane for your jutting ribs, one crane for every seizure.
i love you and you're dying and i will run out of paper trying to fold your broken pieces into birds.
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you drew me a picture of us in the future. our houses were
leave me in darknessIs it light or rain that spackles the glass? Firefly-flashes of burnished gold burning and white-silver starlight surrounded by dark. Through the mirror of window and diamond beyond the city on fire, the sheen of the grass has more power, more emotion in its dark-dewdrop hive.leave me in darkness
I have a memory inside my head, and a darker belief than before. Inspired by leaves at the edge of the vision, the shade-fire hidden by raindrop-streaked night, words choose to leak from silver-stained pens (at last, at last).
Twilight fell like a weather-stained shroud, an
silver coins in the grave"you got any nickels?" "sure, why?" "I haven't got any silver coins to put on her eyes."silver coins in the grave
--
they're already closed; i can't open them to see the gilding of the trees or the dandelion sun spreading across the fields. all the seasons will pass, but you've weighed my eyes shut with your cheap sterling heart.
the cracks in the sidewalk sprout mud and dead dreams where there used to be sun-dappled green; the wrapping-paper bits of the
butterfly leaves scatter the concrete like blood in the rain.
i can't block out the steady
Catching Stars Aflamei've a little touch of fire in my hand and i think it's from the tree; the leaves are blowing down like a golden wedding veil,Catching Stars Aflame
and i might have caught the luck had i moved just an instant faster.
orange seeps into the horizon, a wedding train of wildfire; the blaze that has blinded me is giving way to night.
how will i catch the stars, when it's too dark to see the veins?
blood curls through dry whispers on the pavement, leaving dead butterflies in its wake; one breath of wind sets the chimes a-flutter, drowning out the slith
Erin xxx
--
A man discovered fire - but a woman discovered how to play with it.
Erin xxxxx
--
A man discovered fire - but a woman discovered how to play with it.
MM xxx
--
A man discovered fire - but a woman discovered how to play with it.
Crazy talk-
your poetry is lovely.
--
"The true sign of intelligence is not knowledge, but imagination"- Albert Einstein
i'm glad you liked.
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