Fill her empty spaces
With picket signs
That chant of her beauty.

-JP

watery eyes squinting against
the pink glamor of the setting sun,
casting marvelous streaks
of cherry cream soda foam
radiating from the heartfelt
warmth

dusk settling, a quiet raven
swinging in the swaying trees
and a fence line lining
the edge of evergreen forests
a white picket fence
cluttered with the ghosts
of memories

a pair of binoculars
held by a silent girl
olive and freckled
of the shower of tear drops
which cascaded from those nights
of aching compassion

facing the other side
solitude presence of one
walked of a thousand steps
back splayed by the salty foams
spat by the restlessness of the sea
an umbrella clasped in his grip

the rain drizzled, throwing
the pink sunsets into arrays
of sweet, sweet melodies
the girl of binocular
and boy of umbrella
a picket fence in between

a relief from destiny,
a rain check into reality
figures of speech echoing
slurring syllables
recounting marbles
that used to roll off
from their laughters
on lovely nights

a girl of binoculars
and boy of umbrellas
dreamt of once a meeting
of one such like this
the raven cries
fear not, deal not
what has there
to be done
when the pink
ceases to refill
your sweet dreams

and the girl smiled
the boy climbed over
the white picket fence
and held her hand,
holding the umbrella
to keep their warmth
sheltered deep within

the girl picked her binoculars
held it close to her pretty cheeks
above her lips,
navigating sights
knowing their memories
will far exceed than that
of the white picket fence

I had this picket fence,
As some men do:
It was white,
And a few feet tall.
It wasn't spectacular
By any means,
But it kept my garden safe -
My garden,
How I miss it so.

I knew my neighbors well,
Some better than others.
I mowed my lawn and watered
The flowers from my garden,
As often as a green thumb would,
And one of those days
I saw a woman
I had never seen before.

She was moving in from California,
Had a house just one  block down.
She asked if she could have
One of my roses,
Which no one had asked before,
So of course I let her in
My picket fence to pick a rose.

We met a few more times
And finally, asked her to come inside.
We had some tea, watched a couple movies
And I enjoyed her company.
And my garden,
I started to forget about it.

One night on our way home,
While she was driving and on the phone
Trying to reply to a text message,
She drove straight into my home
Running over my picket fences.
My garden was dead
And fence that made my home my home
Was gone.

My garden, after so many years,
Was no more, and she had no reason
To visit anymore.
She told me there was another man
That had his own gardener,
That didn't need a green thumb.
She didn't feel the need
To pick flowers anymore.

You were
the white picket fence
and
the house in
the suburbs.
Not to mention
the reason
I left
my home
for a chance at
a better life.
You were
my American Dream