We come out for air
To sit for a while
In freedom
Of choice
With dangling feet
From the ledge
Above hundreds
Of others
And busy strangers
Far down there
We come out
To end the day
Neighbours
Watching neighbours
Contemplating freedom
Of choice

Still wearing stockings
And heels
Red hair dressed
Spread
And open
On flowery covers
But the crayons are blocking
Censoring
All entrances
Views
With bold colours
Like blood and dirt
On legs
Pillows
Flowery covers
Exits
Still relaxed
Hidden
Behind the crayons
Still in heels
Dreaming

My great great grand mother
used to hum
when she made coffee
or fixed lunch
in her kitchen

She used to hum
in the garden
and while knitting
in her chair
in her living room

She used to hum
when there were no other sounds
when nobody was talking
until she could no longer knit
and so the sounds of tv
took over

My daughter bears her name
and she hums
when she plays with her toys
and when  she draws
my daughter hums, too

Behind me in line
this morning
at the local store
was a man
with a flower

I only noticed him
as I packed my groceries
but he was standing
right behind me
with his flower

He looked 60-something
and happy
maybe recently retired
and he was buying a flower
a beautiful potted lily

Just that
wrapped in sensible plastic
and he was smiling
made me smile, too

there are only few hours
till dawn
and alarm clocks
but there are bubbles
in the dark
under skin
inside
there are fires
and a puppeteer
with a wish
to make those bubbles burst
in amazing showers

like a whisper
is loud
on the backdrop
of silence

like a crocus
is a colour bombshell
in the sterile white
of snow

my darkness
is a chaotic horror fantasy
in the blissful calm
of day