It came with no warning.
You’d laugh.
Toughen up
you’d say,
so I held
my bruises
close,
and they
were only
mine.
Till old age
restrained you
with tubes
and warning beeps.
In your stupor,
I could see
your paper thin
skin
thicken black
with karma.
And if you thought
I could hold back
my tears,
you’d be wrong.
Again.
(Inspiration from: Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella – My Own Little Corner)
On the wings of my fancy
I can fly anywhere
and the world will
open its arms to me.
In my dreams I am floating
though the gossamer clouds
and the bird’s wings
flutter against my own.
My gauzy ribbons flowing
have braided as I twirl
and I cry out
frightened as I fall down.
‘Cause failing clouds can’t hold me
as I tumble to earth
and the bird’s squawks
keep ringing within my ear.
I’m hoping you will catch me
if I die in my sleep.
Will you hold me
more tenderly than soft clouds?
The dying maple could not hold
the grass
around its roots
so my brother’s
Hot Wheels made
curving
crossing roads
upon the dirt.
They only stayed
from rain to rain.
I could not hold him either.