She would hold my hand

and look at me.

Pearls in her eyes,

like mine.

I don't have her eyes,

hers are blue,

mine are green,

but I could see myself in hers,

a faint mirror image

like looking into a lake.

Pearls on her cheeks,

whiter than mine.

I have young cheeks,

still burning red,

reacting like a traffic light,

to everything new and exciting.

She said that changes,

when you're older.

We sat there,

mine hand in hers.

I don't have hands like that,

hers are long like pianists,

wrinkled and full of character,

interesting hands.

Mine are young and smooth,

like a dolls hands.

So small they disappeared,

when we held hands.

And so freezing cold,

I would take her hands,

just to steal a little warmth.

I bought flowers today,
tulips in a vase,

petals are dropping,
while I'm looking,
yellowed photographs,
memories of a flower

Tulips are growing,
standing in a field,
smiling in yellow,
early spring bloom

cut umbical cords,
leaving mother nature
tied together family,
a bouquet of love

Tulips are dancing,
dangling in small hands,
A little girl is running,
to surprise her mother

A daughters flowers,
a gift for mothers

Some mothers like tulips,
feet in the earth,
icy stones with labels,
daughter, wife and mother

Lay them down,
pretty little things,
decorate the ugly,
with little girl prayers

I wept so violently
My right eye oozed
                                      down
and migrated to my cheek.
I frowned so much
my face shat-ter-ed in pieces.
A remembrance of the light,
the girl that was before,
in yellows and whites.
Parts of me are smoke,
my fire smothered out,
the ashes of a girl,
all greys and blacks.
I sat utterly distorted,
poetry on my lap.

Trust is a feeble thing.

If a tiny little bird,

falls from a sheltered nest

and drops into your skirt,

eyes still closed in rest,

take it like a savor.

Cover it in human scent,

no longer mother natures,

for you it was sent.

If you let it pass away,

it's a mothers heart break,

it's the body of betray,

burry it in the worst ache.

Lay her precious flowers,

decaying white roses,

innocence's dying hours.

I get angry when sad,
cries like throwing darts.
I never really aimed,
hit only by mistake.

But with you,
you made me try
with you was knifes,
your body the apple.

I wanted to cleave,
your chest in two
halfs of an apple,
split like me.

See your clockhouse,
never cared for time,
promises are old seeds,
never coming up.

Now you're wrinkled.
Fallen from the tree,
kicked around by life,
but still the same.

Apples go bad,
faster when in two.
Turn back the years,
to safe us a little time.

I will admit it,
I'm the best liar.
A smile for you,
don't  worry for me,
even crack a joke,
old me would do.

I won't ever flinch,
statue of grace.
I'm not in pain,
I'm just stretching,
we all get tired,
I jawn and explain.

I will do the task,
soldier throught it.
I can do it myself
even when I can't,
so you think me better,
that's all I want.

My eyes are broken.
the soul windows won't open,
I want the morning sun in,
but they won't open an inch.
A bird is confined to my room,
thinking about its impending doom
in vain its beating its blue wings ,
while of unspoken sadness it sings.

I need the windows to be closed,
my rooms is to the rain exposed
but they won't stay shut tight,
the bird in my room has died,
it starved to death on my floor,
there is no pain inside anymore,
but still there a blue bird sings
and a symphony of sobs begins.

Thoughts in flight
chasing you down
in the clammy air
of the night.
Black winged,
in memorial dress,
to mourn old times,
while I swallow
every memory
of you.

When I drift off
in the night,
to your buzz,
I won't dread
your bite no more.
And as I rouse
in the morning
with an itch
I won't even scratch.

I'm weaponizing my mind,
beaks and sharp vision,
to devour memories
before they bite.