The World From Between Two Ears (NaPoWriMo #1)

Rooted too long
Glass between me and the
World.
Blue glow,
Back lit in golden light.
I step out the door and smell
Awakening earth
Baby hay, green and sharp. I am
Waiting for the day that a whinny will greet me.
Waiting to see the world between two ears, again,
Waiting to change my perspective for the better.

If I Hadn’t Stepped Off the Bus (NaPoWriMo #2)

If I hadn’t stepped off the bus
Onto painted footprints and marched
Up the Bring Me Men Ramp
Into the U.S. Air Force Academy, military world…

If I hadn’t got on the plane
That took me to the bus
Onto the painted prints
etc

If I hadn’t accepted the appointment before I
Got on the plane
That took me to the bus
Onto the prints…
You know the drill.

If I hadn’t copied my brother
And accepted the appointment
And got on the plane
And off the bus
And onto the prints…

If I hadn’t carried the headless chickens,
If I hadn’t walked into the yellow jackets’ nest,
If I hadn’t copied his swagger,
If I hadn’t worshipped his every move,

If I hadn’t stepped off the bus,
Three decades ago,
I wouldn’t be me.

Humming (2020 NaPoWriMo #30)

Whining wings

Wheeling sound outside my door.

I leap to my feet,

Rummage in the garage.

Later, crystalline feeder swaying,

I fold my arms, surveying the snow.

Sun-warmed boards underfoot,

I watch his favorite tree.

Has the horrible hummingbird returned?

Rumors placed them only miles south last week.

Our home has been muffled in hushed snow.

We are braced, again, for epic battles on our porch.

Later, when the dog barks at a rumbling truck

And I eye the yet-empty feeder,

I pause to notice the distinctive whine.

Is it just a bad axle?

Perhaps war waits for another day.

Give One’s Tongue to the Cat (2020 NaPoWriMo #22)

The French much have told me to give my tongue to the cat, this prompt was so hard.

But I have long teeth. No hair in my hand. I do things with all ten of my fingers.

I’ll cut the great in two before I start running circles in the semolina.

It’s all Greek (or French) to me anyway. Before I have one foot in the grave, or smell of fir, I’d better bow out of this race.

Maybe I have, after all, given my tongue to the cat.

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