leafygueen - Hello Poetry

We are Floating down a river where the waiting never stops Holding onto our last exhale too afraid to drown Dreaming of the day that we sail high above the clouds Pretending we have yet to reach the edge of the waterfall

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Mar 27, 2021

Mar 27, 2021 at 5:17 PM UTC

Floating down a river

We are Floating down a river where the waiting never stops Holding onto our last exhale too afraid to drown Dreaming of the day that we sail high above the clouds Pretending we have yet to reach the edge of the waterfall

9

Bleary-eyed, an old man asks for change, coins rattling in his hand. A woman hands him saltine crackers across the aisle. “God bless you,” he mutters, takes a seat, and unwraps the plastic with shaking hands. He smiles at her before she leaves the train. Tonight, the passengers on the train are surprisingly quiet for a change. We are all staring down at our hands. And then the silence breaks - a woman cackles aloud to herself in her seat. Her laughter travels up and down the aisle. I overhear a conversation across the aisle between a couple who’ve just entered the train, and are searching for a pair of empty seats. They’re muttering “the country is changing” and they say they are afraid. The woman sighs, and reaches for her lover’s hand. I look over at a child holding her mother’s hand. I meet the little girl’s gaze from across the aisle. I see myself as a child too, but to her I’m a woman. I wonder how often the little girl rides the train. Does she long to see something else for a change - something other than the back of a seat? I notice a lady who has started dancing in her seat, snapping her fingers and waving her hands, bobbing to a silent beat. I imagine her changing into a sequined dress and waltzing down the aisle, giving everyone a performance to watch on the train. I imagine standing up and dancing with that woman and then everyone begins to dance with the woman - we all jump up onto our seats and suddenly we are in a ballroom, not a train. We are tapping our feet and clapping our hands to the music - the little girl across the aisle is dancing with the old man who asked for change. The train stops. We’ve arrived at my station. The dancing woman leaves the train. The passengers change and now there are strangers in their seats. I wave my hand goodbye to the little girl as I walk past her down the aisle.

0

Mar 6, 2021

Mar 6, 2021 at 7:50 PM UTC

Metro Expo Link, a Sestina

Bleary-eyed, an old man asks for change, coins rattling in his hand. A woman hands him saltine crackers across the aisle. “God bless you,” he mutters, takes a seat, and unwraps the plastic with shaking hands. He smiles at her before she leaves the train. Tonight, the passengers on the train are surprisingly quiet for a change. We are all staring down at our hands. And then the silence breaks - a woman cackles aloud to herself in her seat. Her laughter travels up and down the aisle. I overhear a conversation across the aisle between a couple who’ve just entered the train, and are searching for a pair of empty seats. They’re muttering “the country is changing” and they say they are afraid. The woman sighs, and reaches for her lover’s hand. I look over at a child holding her mother’s hand. I meet the little girl’s gaze from across the aisle. I see myself as a child too, but to her I’m a woman. I wonder how often the little girl rides the train. Does she long to see something else for a change - something other than the back of a seat? I notice a lady who has started dancing in her seat, snapping her fingers and waving her hands, bobbing to a silent beat. I imagine her changing into a sequined dress and waltzing down the aisle, giving everyone a performance to watch on the train. I imagine standing up and dancing with that woman and then everyone begins to dance with the woman - we all jump up onto our seats and suddenly we are in a ballroom, not a train. We are tapping our feet and clapping our hands to the music - the little girl across the aisle is dancing with the old man who asked for change. The train stops. We’ve arrived at my station. The dancing woman leaves the train. The passengers change and now there are strangers in their seats. I wave my hand goodbye to the little girl as I walk past her down the aisle.

37

Daughter, you are beautiful - A golden ray of light. You are the reflection of the moon in a freshwater lake - glimmering. You create music like morning birdsong when you think when you dream when you hope. Daughter, you are beautiful just as you are alive.

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Mar 6, 2021

Mar 6, 2021 at 7:10 PM UTC

Dear Daughter

Daughter, you are beautiful - A golden ray of light. You are the reflection of the moon in a freshwater lake - glimmering. You create music like morning birdsong when you think when you dream when you hope. Daughter, you are beautiful just as you are alive.

14

She was the girl with the crooked smile who had great plans, big dreams for everyone but herself - who kept change in her pocket for the old woman on the side of the road and for the child leaning over the edge of the fountain smiling at the pennies that had sunk heavy with hope along with the empty wishes they were supposed to make true. She was the girl with the copper eyes twinkling teaming with life, the girl who was too lovely, too young to die.

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Mar 6, 2021

Mar 6, 2021 at 6:46 PM UTC

She Was

She was the girl with the crooked smile who had great plans, big dreams for everyone but herself - who kept change in her pocket for the old woman on the side of the road and for the child leaning over the edge of the fountain smiling at the pennies that had sunk heavy with hope along with the empty wishes they were supposed to make true. She was the girl with the copper eyes twinkling teaming with life, the girl who was too lovely, too young to die.

21

I am quiet, still A body of water at rest Waiting to be disturbed

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Feb 18, 2019

Feb 18, 2019 at 9:13 PM UTC

Untitled

I am quiet, still A body of water at rest Waiting to be disturbed

3

Her - a red duck with yellow-winged brothers She walks red, sheds red unlike them and Her mother - a buttercup: a flower in the field - or her father - a ripe lemon budding from the tree overhead Her family - sunlight that never sets Her - a rarity in the early evening sky

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Feb 18, 2019

Feb 18, 2019 at 9:11 PM UTC

Her -

Her - a red duck with yellow-winged brothers She walks red, sheds red unlike them and Her mother - a buttercup: a flower in the field - or her father - a ripe lemon budding from the tree overhead Her family - sunlight that never sets Her - a rarity in the early evening sky

11

The princess shaves her armpits Everyday because if she doesn’t The people will whisper About the dark stains under her arms Whenever she fixes her crown

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Feb 10, 2019

Feb 10, 2019 at 7:50 PM UTC

Figurehead

The princess shaves her armpits Everyday because if she doesn’t The people will whisper About the dark stains under her arms Whenever she fixes her crown

5

If I sketched an angel without wings would you be able to tell she’s an angel? The sky behind her would be pale yellow The world below, gray Like the color of the outline of her frame I’d describe her face as angelic Which is supposed to give it away But maybe you’d only say she looks nice

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Feb 10, 2019

Feb 10, 2019 at 7:48 PM UTC

(Not) a Self Portrait

If I sketched an angel without wings would you be able to tell she’s an angel? The sky behind her would be pale yellow The world below, gray Like the color of the outline of her frame I’d describe her face as angelic Which is supposed to give it away But maybe you’d only say she looks nice

9

I don’t know how to dance Never learned Never thought I’d need to know So you led me, gently, at first We started out simple and easy like a bite of sponge cake A one and two and three and four and It felt good to glide across the linoleum floor Light as a feather Like I weighed nothing at all

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Feb 10, 2019

Feb 10, 2019 at 7:47 PM UTC

The First Step

I don’t know how to dance Never learned Never thought I’d need to know So you led me, gently, at first We started out simple and easy like a bite of sponge cake A one and two and three and four and It felt good to glide across the linoleum floor Light as a feather Like I weighed nothing at all

10

There is a doll in a little brick house with satin tights and her shirt tucked in and she is smiling because the machine that made her carved a smile into her plastic head.

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Apr 29, 2017

Apr 29, 2017 at 4:12 PM UTC

American Girl

There is a doll in a little brick house with satin tights and her shirt tucked in and she is smiling because the machine that made her carved a smile into her plastic head.

9