24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
It’s not a truth serum
I reassure in the first instance
You won’t make me quack like a duck?
You inevitably reply
Only if you want to
I smile
Nor will I get you to eat an onion
thinking it’s an apple
But this still doesn’t satisfy
What if I’m not able to go under?
Under what?
I reply
Do you use a pendulum or watch?
Would you like me to?
My tone even my eye contact unwavering
You breathe, you close your eyes
I hypnotise
In the morning I will *redacted* *redacted* *redacted* *redacted*
even though I am alone
I will check with my elderly neighbor and see if she would like to *redacted* *redacted*
even though she is alone
In the morning I will remember when we were not alone.
Children born in fairyland
as wings begin to sprout
searching for sprinkles of cake crumbs
their magic is no doubt
They always get their wishes
made of enchanting light
once were thought of as misfits
But now their repute is bright
Early married at seven
homes of brick and granite stone
these flitting little sprites
our dearest friends they’re known
The penchant for trickery
in will-o-the-wisp spells
considered demoted angels
but we embrace their bells
To leave that stale bread
the essence of home and fire
taming dough to rise
in distaste of the pixie’s ire
the Sleagh Maith of Scotland
the Good People so blessed
condensed clouds of the north
like chameleons colured deft
To meet these beguiling wafts
with their translucent gossamer wings
a dream would surely come true
as the King of Fairies sings
HOUR 11
NATASHA
When I was expecting
my first child,
I worried through the nine months.
I imagined every bad scenario
After her birth, I counted her fingers and toes,
and listened to her breathing during the night.
Three months later, I was pregnant again.
I didn’t have time or cause to worry.
My first child was perfect.
Natasha was born with
Downs Syndrome.
My world collapsed.
My life will never be the same.
I’d never be happy.
What had I done wrong,
to deserve this?
The first few months,
I am ashamed to say,
I was numb with self-pity
Natasha was a sunny, happy baby,
only crying when she had to.
Her eyes lit up when she recognized me,
her mouth opened in toothless smiles.
I couldn’t resist, I fell in love.
Natasha has grown into a lovely
young woman,
independent, compassionate
and bright.
People are drawn to her
and automatically smile.
Her strength is visual memory.
She reminds me which side
the gas tanks are in the cars.
She picks my purse when
I absentmindedly leave it.
She anticipates our needs.
When we cough, she runs for water.
The beds are made
every morning,
and our clothes folded.
She’s a gift, a special blessing.
We thank God every day,
that He chose us
to be her parents.
Hour 9
The moon has always been here
Watching us change the earth
Seeing us try to capture beauty
And we see the moon as beauty
Try to show its likeness on paper
On film
On clay
On any media we can use
For the moon has always been here
my room
in the first apartment
that i’ve paid rent for
doesn’t have a closet
it took months
of brainstorming &
experimentation
to find some system
for clothing storage
i guess it helps
to have no room for hiding
no space for baggage
or maybe i just carry it in me
body made home
for the discarded, secret &
withheld
for that which should
not be left out in the open
TOO
Too open?
Too vulnerable?
Too real?
Not enough love?
Not enough laughter?
Not enough trust?
No past?
No future?
No present?
Frantically searching the in-between
Of my existence
