grandma in her rocking
chair knitting sunflowers
the color of
cheddar cheese
knitting sunflowers
because that’s what she
knew best to work
on her knitting loom

from where i lay
on the rug the pattern
seemed dark, distant
space but when i
squinted an oak it became

i scratched the rug
with my finger nail
present
to grandma creating
worlds in patterns of wool

torn pages from a Christie mystery
scattered on a hardback chair,
cracked wine glass
dripping blood red drops of wine
on the oak floor,

she left in haste
running away from the scene of crime.
the space where her happiness wilted
and almost died.

now freeing herself from the
meditative monotonous melancholy,
heading towards adventures unknown.

…the sunflower on the pavement glowed iridescent,
swaying to the fading footsteps.

She lies there by the bayside

Hovering over like a dove of memories

Starless nights her love became with a slow dance

On stages in Harlem

She’s a teen

A child of God

Her secrets of darkest days passes on through the years

Her body smells of sweet roses in the garden

A fragrance so astute

How lovely is it to be launched into history

The shape of her life to shine

The sun covers her eyes

A miracle scene reveals of her path

Leads the way unexpectedly in one place on time

The life of experiences with beauty

She has always had

Every since a child been born again

tink tink tink
Is that in key?
Is it a key?
Do I care?
tink tink tink
I think I like it.
Maybe.
I should try it again.
tink tink tink
That sounds horrible.
It sounds like rust.
I love it.
tink

From her small, oak sided trailer, pavement space 27, she sells hardbacks and sunflowers, wild seeds in the off season. She rises from behind her knitting, hangs in on a nail to her right to show this thing or that. Her cheddar cheese smile and wine glass eyes tell secrets she’s not really hiding anyway.

If she likes you, she’ll share a little pinch from her sachel, pour tea, and read aloud from her favorites while you’re there. You will stay all afternoon…

I See you my sunflower, knitting new space on the pavement of fine things; crystal wine glass in hand

your scent is bliss

your soul at ease

i see you my dear

I see you

When vines took over
Everything stopped
Moving, breathing, existing
Only the strangling pain
The suffocation lingered in the air
Darkness descended
On eyes, soul, life
Without a shred of light
And no struggle whatsoever
Could unbind, unravel
The vines encircling the heart
In a vice like grip
Until, reaching out
A tiny hand in the dark
Pushed against the window
To outside, to remembrance, to freedom
And just a sight of that
Limitless eternity was enough
To tell the forgotten heart
The vines aren’t where you belong
Aren’t your happiness
And should you choose to fly
Wings await you to take off
Towards the infinite sky

They nailed the law of the land

to their withered oaks

Toasted with wine glasses,

shattered in celebration

upon the pavement of promise

Red wine/ red blood

Spilling/mingling

While the old ones continued knitting

the fabric of forgotten ways

to bind and heal our broken land

Poem 1: The ways of water

I have seen the ways of water
giving life, then taking it away

the gentle stream that feeds a village
swells to consume it within a day

innocent frolics in the bright blue pool
may become tragedy all too soon

mighty is the ocean that coveys you to shore
and mighty still, it swallows you under the moon

without the ways of water, they say
we would undoubtably perish

beware the dangers, but the fresh
free, flowing waters we must cherish.