Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
sandra wyllie Sep 2023
in my pocket. I wear it
as a locket on days when I’m
down. And even when it
is hidden I can tell that it’s still

sound. I carry it
to breakfast. It floats in my morning
coffee, sweeter than the sugar
and cream. Brighter than the sun’s

early beam. It lights up my bathroom
mirror. Dissipates the fog
on the glass making it clearer. Filling
up every room like a bottle of Channel

perfume. I carry it out of the house,
driving the car and walking the cobblestone
streets. If I dazzle you, it's not me! It's
his smile in the billowing breeze.
sandra wyllie Sep 2023
like little boys as they sleep
with lashes that sway
like a cradle in day
sweet like a bloom
over fluorescent moons
and arms tucked in as wings
floating on billowing pillows
top of box springs
lips of rose petal
where beads of pearls settle
gently pull apart
if this didn’t tug at my heart
then a sandy head facing heaven
puffing like leaven
with porcelain cheeks
and legs twisted in sheets
like fields of honey wheat
taking my breath
drifting me in caresses of lullaby
moistening my eyes!
sandra wyllie Sep 2023
They look to mars
across the stars
for spaceships hovering over the sky
are they friend or are they spy

flying saucers in the air
to whom this life do we compare
green men with elongated heads
Rastafarians wearing Jamaican dreads

Tattoos on limbs/rings in noses
women are men and red as roses
earth's burning hotter every day
we're all part of the same milk way
sandra wyllie Sep 2023
full of crimson
not stark as a prison,
where gnarly limbs scratch
the frame of my house. Or stripped

as a ***** that's turned over
and again, so that its grooves
have worn thin. They see
a flower, not the stalk of

thorns. The sun dancing on
the sea, not the blackness
underneath. I dove into
where the sun doesn't

shine. I waltzed in a pyramid
of brine. I imploded like a
submarine, lit like a match
to a tank of gasoline.
sandra wyllie Sep 2023
in the washer
tossed with the coloreds. Pure as
driven snowflakes was I! Sweet
as ma's apple pie. Then bra's

snapped their straps
at me. The dungarees wrapped
their denim long legs around
me. The red thong bled its crimson so,

I was no longer as the ******
snow. I wrinkled in a mess of pa's
stiff cornflower shirts ma had
pressed. Mangled in sheets and

sweaters. Drowning in suds. The rocking
back and forth of this washer with
a thud. I flew out of the machine painted pink,
blue and green. I shrunk down a size or

two. I didn't fit. So, I was kept in the closet
down the hall to wipe the walls and
tabletops/ an old dust cloth. Till I grew moldy
and black. Then they threw me in the trash.
sandra wyllie Aug 2023
of the morning
coffee percolating in the Corning
pendulum swinging back and forth
hands traveling south and north

the eggs and bacon are now plating
this full bladder is done waiting
doltishly climbing out of bed
legs of rubber/feet of lead

clouded eyes cannot focus
breakfast table hocus-pocus
punching keys of grey
for two crumbs of pay

flickering of light through the glass
dew drops clinging blades of grass
robin chirping/squirrels scamper
***** clothes pile in the hamper
sandra wyllie Aug 2023
like a hornet
black tie yellow jacket
singing like a sonnet
letters tied in a packet

bright red and burning
welts dancing in pain
tossing and turning
he Tarzan, I his Jane

I didn't see him land
off in a trance of gin
cannot say life is bland
he's underneath my skin

I pen it in blood ink
with ice to cool the swelling
and as I slowly sink
epoxy for the telling
Next page