Standing next to a telephone pole,<\/p>\n
In a waitress uniform.<\/p>\n
Sweat dripping from my brow.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I’m waiting for him.<\/p>\n
My brother is on the other line.<\/p>\n
I had no idea that these blue-signed pay-phones still exist.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Looking at my self from a distance.<\/p>\n
Lucid eyes bring me back in time<\/p>\n
To a foreign land I once lived in long ago.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I left fresh cut roses pink and red coupled with wild flowers on a mahogany table.<\/p>\n
The butcher paper was strewn about with green tissue paper.<\/p>\n
My mother said, “Don’t worry it’s not safe here.”<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
“Leave it be.”<\/p>\n
There will be more.<\/p>\n
She was not worried as we drove off together.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Translation:<\/p>\n
Do not look back to try and capture beauty, no matter how you are attracted to its nature.<\/p>\n
Your safety is far more precious than the cut flowers that someone else will tend to and appreciate.<\/p>\n
Leave beauty behind if you must, you find it anew.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Flowers will grow and be cut later after summer solstice.<\/p>\n
Do not fear.<\/p>\n
Beauty and love is in your heart; you take it with you everywhere you go.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Flashback to the diner,<\/p>\n
Waiting for my brother,<\/p>\n
Feeling proud.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I took off \u00a0my earrings.<\/p>\n
Rested them on the counter, on a paper napkin.<\/p>\n
One broke open and the other broke in two.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Both were in a crystal casing with silver knobs.<\/p>\n
One was cracked<\/p>\n
Revealing a resin filled with the sweetest tasting logwood honey.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Love still lives…<\/p>\n
All rights reserved copyright (c) 2019 Natasha Vanover<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Standing next to a telephone pole, In a waitress uniform. Sweat dripping from my brow. I’m waiting for him. My brother is on the other line. I had no idea that these blue-signed pay-phones still exist. Looking at my self from a distance….<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":785,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7,1136,441],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-52519","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-marathon-poem","category-official-marathon-prompts","category-poetry-prompt-responses"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/52519","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/785"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=52519"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/52519\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":58022,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/52519\/revisions\/58022"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=52519"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=52519"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=52519"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}