Blue Gold [Poem on 8-31-13]

How easy it is to not

think about the things, which scare us.

 

Numb-is a comfortable disease.

 

I can still feel the smooth

pockets of juice, perfect, blue.

I place them on the table for fear.

I will squeeze too tightly, ruining their simplicity,

as is the way I’ve been living lately.

 

Blue gold

she called them

as they pinged against the metal bowl

excited as my heartbeat.

She shook them in flour.

 

Everything is less exciting

when you can have it whenever you’d like.

She was gone, but still here.

Her mind- a sign it pings:

lost vacancy.

 

The snowy banks left us

a canyon in which we sled and

believed it to be true.

Giggling rosy cheeks still

left me wondering what was over the fence.

 

 

Today I went home.

Overgrown was the hill.

Grass, growth entangled.

As the branches grew

the more suffocated I became.

 

The mistake is assuming the

similarities encompass us.

A hill covered in snow is not a

castle to the new ten-year-old.

Rosy cheeks aren’t sources of

a mother’s need to be wanted.

 

We said later.

You touched my arm signaling,

It was time we shed our summer feathers.

The geese passed by

wings cutting the gray-wind in unison.

 

We find strength in our synonymous.

 

I haven’t conjured you in my mind for a week now.

 

How easy it is to not

think about the things, which scare us.