Poetry Day 5;
Sisters at the Beach
We sit at the edge of the surf
Sand scratching our swimsuits and
Waves crashing across half buried legs
Summer is unfolding slowly
Bent paperbacks rest on faded beach towels
The boombox plays your favorite mix tape
We are set with Bums bummer tshirts
Flipflops and a cooler with ice tea and
Pimento cheese sandwiches
Gulls beg at shrimp boats and beachcombers
Search for shell sized treasure
We are soaking in ours.
You go lay out and I lay flat in the surf
Covered in sea, salt, sunshine...
Bathed in water and wonder.
Sisters at the Beach
We sit at the edge of the surf
Sand scratching our swimsuits and
Waves crashing across half buried legs
Summer is unfolding slowly
Bent paperbacks rest on faded beach towels
The boombox plays your favorite mix tape
We are set with Bums bummer tshirts
Flipflops and a cooler with ice tea and
Pimento cheese sandwiches
Gulls beg at shrimp boats and beachcombers
Search for shell sized treasure
We are soaking in ours.
You go lay out and I lay flat in the surf
Covered in sea, salt, sunshine...
Bathed in water and wonder.
Poetry Day 6:
Falling Inwards
There behind the asphalt window
Sitting kind and frail - she picks the last morsel between her teeth and swallows
Sandwiched between silence and some sense of forgotten
her pale rouged cheeks fall inwards like so many things
A stray hand clutches the edge of a white afghan
the other flutters between the pattern of the chair arm and nervously straightening her hair
A visitor
A memory
Hold it tight.
Falling Inwards
There behind the asphalt window
Sitting kind and frail - she picks the last morsel between her teeth and swallows
Sandwiched between silence and some sense of forgotten
her pale rouged cheeks fall inwards like so many things
A stray hand clutches the edge of a white afghan
the other flutters between the pattern of the chair arm and nervously straightening her hair
A visitor
A memory
Hold it tight.
Poetry Day 7:
The snow is unveiling the ripe earth, melt by slow melt
It is mud season in Wisconsin
where snow boots are decorated in mud
and wet gloppy trails grace your wood floors
Brave crocuses are peeking out
testing the air for Spring
We saw a robin resting in the Mulberry tree
just before driving to school Friday
and the rabbits are looking more
brown than white as they hunt for grass and
other green things
I am itching to plant seeds
ride bikes and go for walks
anything that brings the sun closer
and frees me from the indoors
Spring is less than subtle in Eau Claire
it is more like a happening
some grand party of color
that breaks up the white and brown
When will the daffodils come, asks Ehren
Soon says Mother Nature
Soon says mama
The snow is unveiling the ripe earth, melt by slow melt
It is mud season in Wisconsin
where snow boots are decorated in mud
and wet gloppy trails grace your wood floors
Brave crocuses are peeking out
testing the air for Spring
We saw a robin resting in the Mulberry tree
just before driving to school Friday
and the rabbits are looking more
brown than white as they hunt for grass and
other green things
I am itching to plant seeds
ride bikes and go for walks
anything that brings the sun closer
and frees me from the indoors
Spring is less than subtle in Eau Claire
it is more like a happening
some grand party of color
that breaks up the white and brown
When will the daffodils come, asks Ehren
Soon says Mother Nature
Soon says mama
Poetry Day 8:
What are little girls made of?
Sugar and spice
and "well isn't that nice..."
I was made of hot South Carolina summers
escaping deep into the quiet
of pines and honey suckle
into the whisper and ripple
of the Broad River.
I was made of lazy afternoons with my dog Beau,
wading through creeks, and hopping over rocks
and water moccasins.
I was a tom boy with skinned knees
who loved climbing trees
squirmy tad poles in small pools.
sunning on the rocks in the river
and building twig forts
I was made of sunshine and mud.
Late afternoons, we'd trudge home
covered in dirt, with twigs in our hair, and wet
from the creeks and river.
I was made from adventures in
pine forests, flash light tag and fireflies
...sweet tea and a bubble bath at the
end of a long summer day.
What are little girls made of?
Sugar and spice
and "well isn't that nice..."
I was made of hot South Carolina summers
escaping deep into the quiet
of pines and honey suckle
into the whisper and ripple
of the Broad River.
I was made of lazy afternoons with my dog Beau,
wading through creeks, and hopping over rocks
and water moccasins.
I was a tom boy with skinned knees
who loved climbing trees
squirmy tad poles in small pools.
sunning on the rocks in the river
and building twig forts
I was made of sunshine and mud.
Late afternoons, we'd trudge home
covered in dirt, with twigs in our hair, and wet
from the creeks and river.
I was made from adventures in
pine forests, flash light tag and fireflies
...sweet tea and a bubble bath at the
end of a long summer day.
