at eight he trusted
everything about her
sheets slapped
happily cool,
taunting the heat,
heavy like cheeks
reddened with fever
lavender soap
melted, dripping
like petals onto
a vegetable garden
of beans and beets
tossed against the
porcelain, vibrant
like a summer salad
he held his breath,
toes splayed like
tubers spreading
across the bottom
of the pond
rooted there,
he felt safest
her hair gossamer
above him, eyes
a prairie’s bluest sky,
calmly watching over
at eighty,
he saw the yellowed
grasses wave
and willed her return
like a child begging
the rain to stop
an orphan adrift;
longing for home -
finally she came -
hands in her apron
reaching for a cinnamon;
he folded into her
behind his eyes
the bubbles rise,
escaping to the surface
again beneath
the fondest smile
heather r. reed 011006
Beautiful.
ReplyDeleteThis is really good! You are a real poet. Good work. (If you get a chance, have a look at my poems and tell me what you think). Cheers!
ReplyDeleteThis begs to be read aloud. . .as all great poetry. You're so talented.
ReplyDeleteThanks for your comment on my poems. In fact, very few people have read them, so I'm glad to hear you give them a good response. Keep up the writing and thanks again!
ReplyDelete