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Grace Haak Nov 2019
I see it all in blocks
Squares of memory mosaics
Pasted in a frame
Each one containing its own name
I see a friend in teal sequins
Hibiscus on her wrist
I see an ocean, blue, wide, and deep
Half-hidden by a mist
I see a wall of bubblegum
A friend to carry on my back
I see a dome of glittering gold
Dust shimmering from the crack
In my blocks I see it all
Memories so carefree
I keep them pasted on the wall
Forever they'll remind me
of late nights
of party dresses
of beach trips
of brothers
of pretty sights
of pumpkin messes
of lemonade sips
of my mother
The photos will fade
And the blocks will fall down
But the mosaic remains
Each with a proper noun.
Grace Haak Nov 2019
she is put together
twenty-four seven
breath of peppermint
perfume of floral heaven
she is perfectly mannered
exceptionally kind
you'd never notice
everything else on her mind
she is incredibly smart
her words are so witty
tied off with a ribbon
just to make them look pretty
she is never not smiling
all happy-go-lucky
the best mask to put out
when her days are just sucky
she is friendly to all
personality of bubbles
the kind of person who wants
you to forget all your troubles

but she is more than just
a tin of altoids always on hand
a spritz of marc jacobs to make her smell grand
a perfectly proper dollop of grace
an unworried smile on an unconcerned face
a paper fine-tuned and turned in on time
a colorful poem with many-hued rhymes

she is constantly tired
a string ball of stress
sometimes she can't be bothered
so today her hair is a mess
she is sometimes unhappy
sometimes stuck in the pain
so being silent and distant
might help keep her sane
she is incredibly stubborn
needs to have the last line
born with a hard nose
she refuses to resign
she is not so perfect
she will constantly fail
but if there's one thing she is
it's someone who will prevail

yes, she is a can of la croix
and all things filled with joy
but silver packages all wrapped
can keep treasures trapped
so take her as she is
all the sour and sweet
because without all these things
she wouldn't be complete.
Grace Haak Oct 2019
My dad and I would spend sunny afternoons
riding our bicycles
through my suburban neighborhood.
We would ride down my street
until we reached the sidewalk that diverged into two paths
and neither of them were less traveled by
as we always ended up taking both.
The right path leads to the small waterfalls
just past the basketball court
where my brothers and their friends
would play pick-up games.
Riding across the tiny bridges is a moment of brief bliss
as the sounds of the water rushing reaches your ears
and drowns out everything else.
We’d maneuver to the giant lake
filled with brightly colored kois
and serene storks standing out on the rocks.
Following the curve of the water
we would end up in a private neighborhood
where the blacktop is so shiny and smooth
that your wheels glide across the entire street.
And you can go fast
since it’s silent
and no cars come barreling down the road.
Somehow, we’d end up at that beginning sidewalk
and now it’s time to go to the left.
Over here, there’s a small playground
where my dad would chase my siblings and me
and I would hide in the tube of the slide.
We could spend hours there
on our spaceship
trying to outsmart Darth Vader and the dark side.
Just past the park, we’d reach the stretches of green belts
lacing their way through the streets
and the bushes I flew into
when first learning how to ride my bicycle.
We'd take a left after the dip in the sidewalk
ending up back on our street
and deciding that it’s getting late
once the sky turns pink and orange.
We’d end up back at the cookie-cutter house
that I don’t live in anymore
but part of it is still mine.
I wonder if the kitchen is still red
and if the guest bathroom still smells like lemons.
I contemplate knocking
only to remember that there’s a new family living there
making memories in our pool
and playing in the basement.
I smile, hoping that maybe
they will ride the same sidewalks I grew up on.
I paste these memories into a poem
but there is really no need
because remembering the twists and turns
of my old neighborhood
is just like riding a bike.
Grace Haak Oct 2019
i want to shower you in sugar
and unleash the spate of syrup
but that might be too strong
i want to give you candied comments
and reveal all my honeyed hopes
but i'm afraid that could be wrong
i have all these citrus suckers
and balmy butterscotch
and treacly truffles
i would give them all to you
but i don't want you to get sick
of me and all my candy
Grace Haak Oct 2019
cinnamon sugar
your hands mash the crumble cake
warmth fills the kitchen
Grace Haak Sep 2019
hot butter strolls down my face
and rolls down my nose
dribbles down my chin
and spatters the floor
the lustrous linoleum

i cry tears of sugar
it tastes much too sweet
as they mix with my thoughts
and pour into the cracked bowl
the jaded green memory

my hands are matted with white
and caked with delight
but it's a less-than-pleasant mess
i've used too much
it called for just a teaspoon
Grace Haak Sep 2019
I'm floating and falling
And sinking and sailing
Can anyone save me?
Prevent me from flailing?

I'm shooting and missing
And running and tripping
Can anyone help me?
Stop my feet from slipping?

I'm wishing and hoping
And wanting and praying
Can anyone see me?
Hear the words I'm saying?
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