Lonesome Leaves

only

Lonely–the only

leaves left to wonder about

their fate and fortune.


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Rain Tumbles

wet and cold

Rain tumbles,

all waterfalls

and slick streets.

The world may be wide and wild,

but right now it is wet,

drenched in an unpleasant thinness,

a coating on everything

that offers chill and slip.

The elements–

the wind whip,

the cold biting air,

the cloud drizzle–

are so uninviting.

So maybe today is a day to stay.

Maybe today is the day to stay.


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Impulse Purchases and Confusion: Pen Pal Letter #1

That’s not entirely true.

To Whom It May Concern:

So I impulse bought another plant. Two in fact.

That’s not entirely true. I bought grow kits for a thyme plant and a rosemary plant, so I essentially bought pre-plants. And dirt. Dirt that leaked out somehow and got on the jeans that I also impulse bought. What I’m trying to say is that I took a trip to Target.

I do kind of need the jeans, though. I promise that my impulse purchases are measured.

Well, most of them. I don’t need the pre-plants. I will use the pre-plants once they become plants, but I don’t need them. They are more to fulfill my dreams of homesteading, even while I live in this apartment, and also to fill in the gaps of my herb collection, which previously consisted only of basil and mint (if you don’t count the lavender that I killed through negligence before it even flowered). (I promise that I am not as terrible of a plant parent as that previous parenthetical might make it sound. Or maybe I am.)

The other day, I took a walk around my neighborhood. The times I had done it before, I stuck to my secluded little space, but this time I wanted to venture further. There is a crosswalk with traffic signals and everything out on the main road, so I had assumed this meant that there was plenty of sidewalk to be found beyond that point. This is not the case, not even close. It went on for maybe 30 feet and then ended. I walked those 30 feet because I knew that the other side was even worse. I found where the sidewalk ends. Maybe one day, I’ll write a poetry book about it, unless, of course, that has already been done.

After those 30 feet, I turned around. I had taken the dog with me on this little adventure, and he was very confused, as was I. Why put in those crosswalk signs before there is anywhere for them to take you? It would be one thing if they were clearly preparing for sidewalk construction, but that is clearly not true. Not knowing where else to go, I walked the dog through a bit more of the area on my side of the main road and then took him home.

Later, I took a drive down that part of the main road, the direction away from the highway, the direction that I almost never go in. I was looking for sidewalk, to see if it started again anywhere near that crosswalk. What I was really looking for was the hope that my sidewalk issue is a problem that the city would undertake in the near future. That there is just a gap that will be filled shortly.

The sidewalk didn’t start again for a long while. So long, in fact, that I had stopped looking and was surprised when I spotted it. I continued to drive not looking for anything at all, found nothing more, and returned home.

I’m not sure what I’m looking for in life in general; I’m not sure if I’ll ever know, but sometimes I do find it in caring for plants. Confusing dogs can also be fulfilling.

Anyway, wish you all the best!

Sincerly,

Joy


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The Shoe Stealer

Who loses a single shoe, and where?

A shoe is gone, one of a pair

that once both belonged to me.

Who loses a single shoe, and where?

I look and look, but do not see.

It’s missing maybe for forever;

must have walked off by itself.

See, shoes these days are very clever,

won’t stay in place upon a shelf.

Oh never mind, I just found it,

it’s been here underneath this chair.

Ignore the part the dog clearly bit.

I wonder who could have put it there.


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Reflected

sculpter’s hands

A mirror to those around

reflecting back the parts of themselves

they want to see in the person before them.

No innate personality,

a tabula rasa

that gets etched in then polished clean

over and over again.

Clay molded and unmolded

molded and unmolded

surely one day

will become overworked

and collapse.


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Obstruction

windows of glass

This house has many windows.

One in the kitchen

that sticks in the summer heat

and refuses to ever let a breeze

pass through when most needed.

One that is

destined to be replaced

because of a crack

running through the glass.

There’s one in the upstairs bedroom

with a view of the street below

where children play

and lovers embrace

and people laugh and dance.

A different one

with stained glass decorations

hung against it

to catch the light

and send colors cascading

into the space.

And one window has

a view of nothing but a brick wall

on the other side.


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Coffee Table Books

Manuscripts with their jolly and vibrant colors

There are more coffee table books

than happy memories

in that place.

Manuscripts with their jolly and vibrant colors,

begging those who pass time on the beige couch there

to see, to read,

to look at their shiny, captivating images.

They are a distraction

from the stony silence

that envelops that living room

where very little living is done.

The home was meant to be

a shared abode

but, as fate would have it,

not by the two

who dreamed to drape themselves

in blankets of familiarity

and ease–

Those who thought they would find comfort

in the chest of the other.

One book on the table features pictures of nature,

images of green spring days,

of places to go to be at peace.

On the cover is a blooming clover field,

the type made for rest,

blooming with flowers

that call to the bees.

On the day one moved out,

taking those books on their way,

very little else changed.

The other stayed, as did the couch

as did the silence.

The one left to live there

and to find someone new to share this home with

sometimes still dreams of those clover fields

featured on the nature book cover,

hoping next time won’t be

so luck-less.


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Invitation

“Enter not”

The door invites in appearance

with its warm, enchanting hue

and beautiful, shining

golden accessories.

One might walk up to it,

engage it in conversation,

ask to pass through it.

“Enter not,” it says in reply,

its hard, wood self

stiff with loyalty

to those behind it.

“Instead, stare up me,

think of the opportunities

that lie behind,

the people you could meet,

the things you can do.

But do not dare touch me–

do not knock

and do not run your fingers

along my beautiful paint.”

The door stays steady,

even,

its color aggressive and its handle

full of metallic bite

and strength.

“Go away for now,”

commands the door.

“You may come back,

but you many never come in.”


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Daybreak

sleep alone

The ceiling vent pumping cold air into the room

groans and rattles and disturbs.

There is so much space in here,

more than can be used

by one person.

It’s almost as if

humans weren’t made

to sleep alone.

The pillows have gone flat so quickly,

so why were they so expensive?

A philodendron propagates

in a mug of water.

Hopefully, that new leaf

will unfurl soon.

The alarm clock is wrong;

its time changed when the power went out

for just a second this afternoon.

Who knows when it will be changed back.


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