He's as high as a georgia pine, my father'd say, half laughing. southern trees
as measure, metaphor. highways lined with kudzu-covered southern trees.
fuchsia, lavender, white, light pink, purple : crape myrtle bouquets burst
open on sturdy branches of skin-smooth bark : my favorite southern trees.
one hundred degrees in the shade : we settle into still pools of humidity, moss-
dark, beneath live oaks. southern heat makes us grateful for southern trees.
the maples in our front yard flew in spring on helicopter wings. in fall, we
......
Miss Muffet was a girl of thirteen, filled with youth's beauty and charm;
And a love of vibrant life zealous, like eager, vivid thunder of blue alarm.
She was a fine student, pert and popular; like the primrose popularity;
Or stars appearing at the designated hour, sparkling like crystal clarity.
Mary Muffet lived in a small town, with loving parents and her siblings,
Who sympathized with her fear of spiders; like colorful, fall misgivings.
Friends flanked their white picket fence, in fall days of glamour, striking;
......
The creek was cool beneath the sun,
Its waters sparkled, our laugh begun.
We dove and splashed in endless play,
Wolf Creek kept the heat at bay.
Golden Gate’s diamond called our names,
Where dust flew wild in epic timeless games.
The crack of the bat, the cheers, the grin,
Moments carved deep, where dreams begin.
......
Ik ademde in wat zij nooit zeiden
en noemde het zuurstof.
Schoon. Leeg.
Vrij van wortels
en van groei.
Ik groef me los uit hun dromen
tot mijn handen niets meer vasthielden.
Ik leek op niemand,
En niemand keek terug.
......
Wash my hair,
Lavender shampoo, the squeak of cleanliness.
When you’re almost done,
Split my skull wide open.
Let it all spill out,
Cerebral storms unraveling in cold, biting splashes.
Take away all that I couldn’t purge.
Let the water flood the hollows of my head.
I’ll shake myself like a stray.
Flinging drops into my eyes.
......
Ik ademde in wat zij nooit zeiden
en noemde het zuurstof.
Schoon. Leeg.
Vrij van wortels
en van groei.
Ik groef me los uit hun dromen
tot mijn handen niets meer vasthielden.
Ik leek op niemand,
En niemand keek terug.
......
Wash my hair,
Lavender shampoo, the squeak of cleanliness.
When you’re almost done,
Split my skull wide open.
Let it all spill out,
Cerebral storms unraveling in cold, biting splashes.
Take away all that I couldn’t purge.
Let the water flood the hollows of my head.
I’ll shake myself like a stray.
Flinging drops into my eyes.
......
If I could make my own adults,
I’d shape them gently—
after the foggy warmth of grandmothers' laps
and the way a mother tucks in the corners of a blanket like a promise.
I’d build them with leftover laughter from childhood
pressed into the hollows of their cheeks,
the kind that resurfaces when they laugh with their eyes closed.
I’d stir in a spoonful of Camus—
so they'd look at the sky and feel both lost and held.
......
The creek was cool beneath the sun,
Its waters sparkled, our laugh begun.
We dove and splashed in endless play,
Wolf Creek kept the heat at bay.
Golden Gate’s diamond called our names,
Where dust flew wild in epic timeless games.
The crack of the bat, the cheers, the grin,
Moments carved deep, where dreams begin.
......
gfgfg
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