Tag Archive | remember

4/17/2015 – Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Tomb-Tomb

Apr17

Tomb-Tomb

She already had one foot
in her grave, when we,
innocent children of the 60’s,
peeked over the fence
at old ‘Tomb–Tomb Nelson’
tending her garden
in her tattered slip again,
and controlled our giggles
so she couldn’t hear,
while our mocking breasts
swung over our shoulders.
Tomb-Tomb.

Guilty, but never caught,
we’re sentenced by breezes
to remember
grass fluttering
while caressing her knees,
the scent of the dirt
perfuming her hands,
the feeling of snickers
lying deep in our throats
choking the childhood
out of us.
Tomb-Tomb.

4/8/2015 – Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Exposed

Apr8

Exposed

It wasn’t
a dare
that my neighbor
taunted
that made
us do it,
and no one
expected
any more
of us,
yet we remember
giggling afternoons
flicking our thumbs
baring all
we found inside
as we’d snap
the ends
off peas.

And that,
with a simple
cream sauce,
still tastes good
on toast.

4/3/2015 – Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Stroke of Midnight

Apr3

Stroke of Midnight

In the tic
when his body
seized,
his pocket watch
fell
shattering
the spinning lies
he covered
now abruptly
vulnerable.

Regardless
of how his hands
flailed,
he was unable
to remember
his metronome
of good
or bad.

A shard
of himself
as he
clocked out.

6/9/2012 – Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Guillotine

Jun9

(Writer’s Digest – 2nd Place Winner- Quatern Challenge 3/05/2012)

Guillotine

When your lips brush my yielding neck,
I remember why I should turn
away from all the sharpened words
that landed with a cutting edge.

Your warm breath tries to soften me
when your lips brush my yielding neck,
but I’m still stiff and suspended
above your pensive punishment.

Even though I reprimand you
as your strong arms coil around me,
when your lips brush my yielding neck,
you make me want to struggle less.

For I’ve been found guilty of love,
and if I have to bite my tongue,
I’ll forgive my shoulders dropping
when your lips brush my yielding neck.

4/05/10 Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – My Glass Was Filled Again

Apr6

My Forgetfullness

PROMPT 5: Write a poem about too much information.

My Glass Was Filled Again

Covers rolled over me
clouds billowed past
my distortion of day,
my mixing of night.

Dreams dropped the words
that slumber used to describe
my mixing of people,
my confusion of time.

Somewhere in the pillow
that holds my jumbled words
my poem was left in pieces,
my frustration wakes again.

I thought I would remember
all the feelings of the dream
my clarity of morning,
my forgetfulness of you.

4/04/10 Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Run

Apr4

Hibiscus 1

PROMPT 4: Write a history poem.

Run

Sidewalks
colored, Easter chalk,
drawing green twisting tendrils.

Sunny morning,
kneeling day
in white lacy gloves.

Mother’s warning,
“Take them off”
still ringing in my ears.

I remember
yellow blooms
big as her opened hand.

With sheers in hand,
draw out winter pain
by cutting to the quick.

My hibiscus can’t run like me,
stuck
kneeling deep in dirt.

1/17/10 Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – Be Self-Indulgent, Feel No Shame

Jan17

Photo by Patricia A. Hawkenson

Photo by Patricia A. Hawkenson



Be Self-indulgent, Feel No Shame

You may have to think hard
to remember
boredom,
that lay on the couch,
curl up with a good book
lapse into nothingness
way of existing.

Ahhh…

Drink cocoa
slow.
Lick marshmallowy foam
off your lips.
Expect nothing
more than the turn
of another page.

Ahhh…

Let quietness seep
in with breaths
deep and warming,
hot mug to your cheek.

Linger.

Let only decadent words
pour from your mouth
when silent reading
can not be done.

Ahhh…

12/27/09 Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections – A Triangle Has Sharp Corners

Dec27

Bottle

A Triangle Has Sharp Corners

My life spins
like an empty bottle
when I am with you
remembering.

Unable to pour out
what you do
that reminds me
of him,
only a smile points
its way to my lips,
my guilty pleasure
remembering
what we did.

When I recognize
that smile on you,
I have to let
you drink it in.

9/02/09 Patricia A. Hawkenson’s Reflections

Sep2

Bed Spread

In the morning the light is pouring in
through the slits in the blinds
creating blurring splotches
fluid against the wall.

I can see only the shadowy silhouette
of my fingertips as they flow
over the knuckle mountains
and hand valleys lying across your chest.

You are slowly waking with one eye
skeptical as you see me lying beside you
smearing the line between
what I remember and what you forgot.

When Two Worlds Collide

The cloth lay on the table
innocent in its intentions
to become something amazing,
and it held within its fibers
the inspiration we needed.

My daughter, only six, asked me,
“Who controls the power of clothes?”
I answered, “You do.”

Soon, with a hungry anticipation
and an eye for design,
she dressed for Halloween
as a Recess Peanut Butter cup.

It was difficult to control
my urge to eat her up.