Heaven
Page no. 5
Page no. 5
Page no. 5
Coffee and Change
coffee with a splash of soy milk
just enough to change its color
cost $2.37
with 63 cents in change
six dimes and three pennies
that I scatter throughout my day
like the folks who leave kindness rocks
hidden in plain sight
six dimes and three pennies
for the ones looking for messages
love notes
from beyond the thin veil
in dimes and pennies
and other change
I put two dollar bills in the tip jar
a total of five dollars well spent
on coffee
and changing someone’s day
Hour 2-Before the Dawn
The sun is not quite ready to come up
The world is black
I hear the ocean out my window
I cannot see it
I trust the sound
It is soft, rolling, waning
Not tumultuous
Not violent
Just lazy, constant
The birds aren’t up yet
Except the one lone rooster
Somewhere
Breaking the quiet
The neighbors sleep
My husband makes old man noises
As he rustles about
The cat forages for food
His full bowl unsatisfactory
I type lonely words onto a blank screen
The joy of unseen things
And poetry
Hour 1, Prompt 1: Disquiet
I met myself
in the quiet
barren darkness
the suspended hollow
of time
and eternity alone
just me
and a ticking
discontent mind
insisting that
I was not
had not
indeed
been
fine
I laid down
laid the whole of my body down
letting the curling tendrils of night thought
wrap around the ill-fitting body
that I could never quite
turn into a home
I relinquished my bones
to the feeding of tomorrow’s soil
Unexpected
The joy of unseen things
Inspire and scare,
Arrive without notice,
Pleasant or unlikeable,
Embrace it with sense,
They may bring surprises.
@maritzam-mejia – Hour 2
Hour 2: Memories
Reflections wriggle on the ripples.
Time makes memories in triples.
Nowhere
electrical wires that stopped working some time ago
still go in a direction,
an old boss always awake to tell you what to do or no to do
with firm indifference to what makes sense
still following a path of remembered sight
(tanka)
setting out
the sprinklers
before dawn —
girding our loins
against Anthropocene heat
the dog
was not mine
but it was
my friend
listened only
to its owner
and to me
the dog
would put its paws
on my shoulders
look me in the eye
and lick my face
and I would stand my
ground, five years old,
much smaller,
unafraid
Expression
Sharp angles, empty spaces,
when your thoughts have been beaten by the sound
of endless chatter and permanent novelty
and more of this nothing
to click on and click through
to tap with your flesh and make electric your dreams
to be categorized, sorted,
and fully known.
And it’s a fight
to drag your mind through the scribbles and static
to make outwards your inner disorder
for others to live in.