My husband and I share a place by the tree.
One day, the sound of his voice calls out to me.
From out in the fields, through a window to the sink,
He calls me to come, to sit, and to think.
I yearn for his company, and seek it I will.
I leave my one dish unwashed by the sill.
I pluck a flower from a vase, his favorite, marigold
And leave my silent house, lonesome, barren and old.
I traverse up the hills, to the crux of the mound.
With the tree’s greenest of leaves shadowing the ground.
I watch the branches sway, with gentle idleness.
The sturdy bark of the tree stands crooked and timeless.
I place the marigold to the feet of my love,
When a gentle whisper calls out to me from above.
The leaves rustle, fervent, a cacophony of sound
The memories of bliss come rushing around.
I once sat under this tree, with my love by my side,
We ate lunch and knitted, or at least he had tried.
He snipped the yarn short, too small to be used.
“The yarn’s better this way,” he told me, amused.
The flower sits still, by the ground of the tree.
The only one to see this beautiful flower is me.
I yearn for his company, mourn for his choice,
Our place by the tree where I last heard his voice.
I come here to sit, to think and to grieve.
A part of me still wonders and wants to believe,
That if I was a better woman to the man that I love,
Then maybe he wouldn’t have brought his soul above.
Before you were born, you were the thought of fear about the future. Before you were born, you were a
mistake, an accident, and now a problem. Before you were born, your parents were working on a farm,
picking vegetables, and growing rice. You were living on a farm, hours outside of the city, up on a
mountain, in a tiny village. Before you were born, your parents worried about providing food for
themselves. You were a pea-sized fetus, undernourished, and under-developed growing each day.
Before you were born, you were the joy that brought a smile to your mother’s face, but tears, to your
fathers eyes. Before you were born, you were the fear of not getting the future you deserve. You were the
thought that your parents could not provide a life for you. Before you were born, you were the thought that
living somewhere else, becoming a new person, and having new parents would be the best option. The
only option.
Pitter patter,
Pitter patter:
The soft tap of rain down the car windows
Accompanies this sticky summer Saturday of June.
Soon Mom turns left off of Cedar Street and
Pulls into a clearing enveloped by pine trees,
Five, ten miles from the nearest supermarket.
A site so secluded even the GPS
Can’t seem to find it;
A place almost abandoned with
Soiled showers and murmuring mosquitoes;
A sector hidden from plain sight
Silent because we are the only ones there.
But our annual trip still
Sparks joy in my mind,
A thrill of adventure down my spine.
As night creeps into the open ceiling and
Paints the sky a deep sapphire blue,
Stars twinkle like tiny diamonds;
Telling stories in the blank canvas of the dark
As we tell stories of our own around a crackling fire.
Knowing the trip will be over too soon, too early
We gently toast marshmallows until just barely charred,
Savoring the sweet essence of simply being.
A strip of powdery sediment on the Northern side,
Where the bay’s gentle waves are embraced;
A barricade of rocks along the Southern,
The relentless Atlantic, pounding, pounding.
Children skipping, buckets clanking,
Rushing to the sandy shore.
Colorful crystals clinking in the pockets of collectors,
Their edges softened by the swirling sea and sand;
Younger children clustering around collapsing sand palaces,
Others out splashing in the shimmering waters.
Parents packing, children slumping,
Trekking back to the comforting cottage.
The shore quiets,
Lapping waves fill the silence;
The day’s final light casts its glow,
Painting the sky a warm peachy pink.
An oasis in a vast expanse of blue.
The wind whispers on the leaves turned brown,
It’s in these woods that time slows down.
The satisfying snap of twigs underfoot,
Getting tired, the hikers decide to stay put.
As the sun sets and the temperature drops,
The conversation between the squirrels stops.
Meals are pulled out of bags and water begins to boil,
The boys sit down on logs, rocks, and soil.
Elsewhere in the world, the night has just begun,
But here the hikers get ready for bed, thinking of tomorrow’s fun.
Clothes are changed, teeth are brushed, and tents zipped up,
In the morning, we’ll eat oatmeal out of the packet, no cup!
All of a sudden, the world outside the tent is light,
The boys rub their eyes as the birds resume their fight.
In a matter of minutes, bags become fully packed,
Today will be the best day yet, that is a sure fact!
“Listen to nature,” and the boys halt their talk,
They set forth on their journey, and begin to walk.
The golden sea of grain
Sways slightly in the breeze
Small ruby-red poppies peeking through the stalks
The song of the cicadas
Their cacophony of love
Buzzing insects adding their sonorous voices to the mix
The lovely fragrances
Of geraniums, lavender, hibiscus
Add to the warm pleasant smell of hay and drying grass
The balmy gusts of wind
Caress me as they pass
Tall grasses tickling my skin as I wade through
Everything is perfect.
The best sensation of all, however
Is not a sight, sound, smell, or touch
But the glorious taste of gelato melting on my tongue
This is just to say
I have misplaced
my wedge
that was out on
the links
Have you seen it?
I left it on the green
Alone in the dark
you were probably
hoping I wouldn’t
need a new one
time for a upgrade
Forgive me
The grooves were ruined
it was so rusty
So dirty
Some would even say,
under par
Seven thousand miles and more away Distant from my mind Lies that which I used to call home Alas now, my memory faded.
Though still, I remember the cacophony of harsh sounds, the myriad of car horns ever so rambunctious, frightening, yet so vital, contributing to the atmosphere, the life of the city.
The bustling noise of the crowd. Sound passes through my head, the language is foreign, only to be drowned out by, the roaring firecrackers, scaring evil spirits away.
Much now have I forgotten, but still I’ve yet to forget, the ravenous crackling fire, as it devoured joss paper,
the vibrant fireworks, soaring towards the heavens, radiating vivid colors to bleak, dreary night skies. As if a brush to a canvas, an explosion of beauty.
So close and yet so far, out of grasp, but still within my heart, mind, soul, within me remain fleeting memories serving to remind me, of a beloved location. Seven thousand miles and more away.
The “Healthy Fast Food” The Mexican-American Place The Craved Restaurant Huge Burrito Restaurant
Oh Chipotle, you put a smile on my face when I am down I can always rely on you to keep me sane The familiar flavorable taste overwhelms me and I crave you Just like the first time we met Every bite I take fills me with delight Even at the end, when there is just a sad piece aluminum foil left I can still taste the flavors on my tougue I know you are not gone, Just waiting for my return
The “fake” Mexican restaurant Most expensive fast food Food Poisoning Food The used to be favorite in America
But Chipotle, I know that you’ve hurt people too Hurt them with your flavors With your sometimes bad facilities Your sometimes bad guacomole Made them not trust you Please apologize And fix your ways Otherwise I’ll be scared You might hurt me too
But Chipotle, Don’t get me wrong I still love you I love biting into that mixture of Rice, cheese, salsa, Different mixture everytime
Because Chipotle I can never get over you