Blood-soaked scarlet
Textured tentacles stretch
Mesmerize
Cling, grasping the sky
As sun sinks into night
Below watchful airborne moon
Blood-soaked scarlet
Textured tentacles stretch
Mesmerize
Cling, grasping the sky
As sun sinks into night
Below watchful airborne moon
She is not of the world she walks in
Drug talk, “bad girls”
Street fight aggression
Contentious swagger meets
Wheeling and dealing
Work for many a 4-letter word
“Bitch” this, “fuck“ that
Poisons shouts, jokes and general comments
Dawn to dusk and beyond
Nor is she in the world she is of
Obligations hectically juggled
Asperations lofty and mundane
Seasoned bread of daily routine
Family precariously snuggled
Focal point of striving and strife
Duty and accompishment driven
Friendships nurtured, held dear
Day after day she awakens
Still trapped surreal
In this bizarre alternate world
Focused, intent on survival
Return to the place she belongs
Ruby red slippers defunct
Disenchanted
Fail, heel-clicked
To transport her home
She carries invisible burden
Grand Canyon-esque
Disconnect from both worlds
Undesirous of assimilating to current
Fitting square peg into round felon hole
Fearful her previous world
Shifted and morphed in her absence
Will no longer claim her or fit
Every moment and each painful step
Taken toward that ultimate goal
Reintegration into her real world
Crunch upon prickly pebbles of worry
Wormed inside shoes, gouging feet
Never again will her world
Fully embrace her
Gift the belonging
Her heart longs, aching, for
Perhaps, in truth
It never did
Holiday season descended
Weighty and painful upon her
Devoid of signature trappings
Joyful family feasting
Satisfaction enveloped in giving
Heartfelt gifts in their wrappings
Desirous of spreading good cheer
Wishes for holiday joy
She draws cards for a multitude
Channels elusive much-needed peace
With limited options, she fashions
Personal gifts for dearest family
Crocheting sore fingers crokked
In minds eye she gifts her beloved
The one she most crucially hurt
Peace, repentance, recompense
Hardest of all is withholding
Words chosen for healing and thanks
Instead she gives with heart shattered
The gift of her utter silence
Old and young and in-between
Short and tall, wide and lean
Kind and quiet or loud and mean
From skittish mice to drama queens
Women in prison are waiting
Waiting for their time to go
Or mail to come
Or news to show
Waiting in line for meals to eat
Pills to take, a toilet seat
Waiting, erect, for daily count
Ensuring they aren’t waited out
Waiting, prone, for night to fall
For day to break on cindered wall
Waiting to launder uniforms
Worn daily, to repent, reform
Waiting to learn when they will leave
Next stop on their journey, with fear or relief
Waiting to start real life again
Uncertain how or where or when
Waiting for the world to see
Inmates—human—as you or me
Waiting for a second chance
Denied without a backward glance
Waiting to go home sweet home
No idea where that may be
Cloud shrouded
Sun sets with
Thunderous color symphony
Trumpeting red-orange orb
Musically pierces
Slits sky open
Reverberates throughout
Celestial surround.
Pianissimo pinks float
Soaring among timpani reds
Crescendoing, vibrato
Deep magenta finale
Without warning
Skins prickles, electric
Fingers clumsily thicken
Hands unexpectedly sticky
Chest fires, discomfitting
As if unwanted passion inspired
Climbing, perspiration beads
Upon forehead, upper lip
Hair weightens
Scratchy shag-wool cap
Extraneous layers shred
Later, in cooling, re-donned
Tribulation of middle-aged women
Flashes, hot waved, through her
Recalling exasperated lamentations
From women power-surging afore
She notes perspective’s ironic gifts
Daily licked by hell’s hungry fires
Hot flashes a flash in the pan
Menopause a trivial inconvenience
Amongst daily soul-searing encounters
Notions float on the wind
Drift unscented to fallow ground
Land among thoughts’ detritus
Barred with thorns
Litter-strewn and over grown
Some seeds carelessly trampled
Under routines’ mindless plodding
Others fall darkly dormant
Between hidden crevices
Prickly-hulled kernels find purchase
In rocky inhospitable terrain
Worm deeply determined
To rich loam far below
Deposited grains in fertile soil
Well mulched in years before
Nutrients of chance conversation
Germinate hidden cold seeds
Coax tentative sprouting tentrils
Morph to strengthening shoots
Push word by excavated word
Through cognition-clogging dirt
Trickles of literary influence
Sprinkle upon fledgling ideas
Bathe themes in leafing nourishment
Bespatter details and nuance
As central supporting stalk
Breaks writing-blocked ground
Rays of creative inspiration
Pierce mental clouds of disuse
Warm incubating phrases
Under brightly heated focus
Add color, height and dimension
Cajole into burgeoning growth
Neck-breaking repetitive toil
Tills word-garden repeatedly
Weeds daily with paper and ink
Nurtures thoughts lyric, coherent
Waters phrases picturesque
Until poet’s labor flowers
Approaching snow
Fog foreshadow coats the morning
Hangs shimmering in early half-light
Develops as slowly wafting oversize flakes
Powdering landscape in cottony tufts.
Cover slowly accumulates,
Renewing innocence in the world.
Snowfall shifts, flakes shrink,
Sifting earthward in finer sheaths
Shedding solemn purity, hushed
Bringing Heaven down.
Intelligent, thoughtful conversation:
Engaging over events, worldly to personal;
Conveying concerns mundane to aspirational;
Voicing values; lived, challenged, debated;
Hopes and tears, aired, shared;
Spattered with gentle humor.
Laughter launches connection, non-divisive.
Good-natured ribbing,
Revives shared history
Void of derogation.
Absent thinly veiled insults,
Barbs hidden under feathers.
She remembers such discussions.
Memory of them dims,
She hopes, fervently prays
Must, for survival, believe
Their existence remains real.
5:00 PM passes, total darkness encroaching,
Not yet descended
Sky retains bluish, now navy, tint
Beyond copse of stripped trees
Red Christmas lights peek
Twinkle a staccato beat
Tortuous enticing hint
Of other-worldly merriment,
Promise of traditions continued
Beyond barren confinement
Longest night of darkness past,
Hope whispers in her ear
“Perhaps your longest night has too?”