nostalgia

Some days I find myself walking down streets that stretch so far away from here. Sunny days and ice cream bought from a vendor asking me if I have five kopek to make perfect change. Days like today that start with visible air and end with rain freezing to road tops. Days when snow turns to slush turns to mud. Faces begin to appear in no magical order. Alla's mother stumbles out on the street and presses both her hands against the outside of the apartment. The little boy whose name I've forgotten--he sits on my lap as we ride the bus to his house. We share a pomegranate while he talks of cars and guns in an excited voice. We leave his house to find ourselves covered and almost coated with a gorgeously sparkling sky, uninhibited by streetlight camagflogue. Some days. I have to pull myself back to reality and focus on the task at hand. But I welcome the respite. The small escape into my heart's memories. Shura and her full-cheeked, smiling face. The new scab on her chin from her latest trip on the path. I miss her smile's warmth.

sea sparkle

We sprinkled sea water
Upon your hair,
So when it dried
We could see it
Sparkling in the sun.

heart close

I want my heart to pound next to yours. You'd left it at that, and then we stood chest to chest in a hug as our hearts continued their beating of blood, if only a bit more rapidly than before.

I know the words you said didn't signify one distinct moment of heart pounding because we'd stood like this before. Held each other like this before. And, yet, it was different because this was the first time I'd heard you say I want in anything related to the future.

Your eyes met mine and you said I want my heart to pound next to yours. And that's what made me want to hold on to forever.

before the sun woke you up

Before the sun woke you up, I had already been to the river. I dipped in my toes. Hushing the automatic shocked gasp, I rocked back on my heels. I didn't want to startle you or the deer that grazed but one hundred yards away.

The butterflies began unfurling their wings to the warming rays as you fluttered open your eyes. Too bad we can't take flight with them and skim the surface to search out the source of this icy water.

But not always too bad because here we gaze with our eyes closed. We figure out their flight patterns and follow them even while moored solidly to the rock upon which we crouch.

not of the rain

I run through the rain.
Wish it would soak through my skin,
Rather than slide off,
Leaving me by myself again.

summer praise

caught between the lines drawn with two thick black pieces of chalk. there's dust in the air and i find it hard to inhale and then i have nothing at all to exhale. it's just a cough and i feel as if there are hands on my throat. the fingers dig into my skin and I close my eyes. it doesn't have to be so violent, though. we can run through fields on blue sky, yellow sun, pink flower days. we can fall on our backs and wish on a cloud. yes, this is called day-time desiring. it's not a nighttime ritual where stars get wishes shoved upon them. it's just a cloud. maybe the whitest. maybe the puffiest. maybe the one that's moving the fastest and we can stop it long enough to cast our wish upon it, before we lose sight of it to the brown mountain. our wish. we share. it's not a mine nor a yours thing. it's simply simple and all the colors make us smile and shine. we've forgotten the snow-cold winter days when we wore nothing but frost on our faces. for now is the time for freckles. the time for blonding of hair.

a year ago (rushwrite)

Hopes too high.
Come crashing down like a kite cut from the sky.
Failure to fly
Creates a crumpled figure
Crushed into dirty snow.
My nose bleeds through my fingers.
I wipe my hands on my pants
Then raise them to catch the blood again.
There's no stopping it.
The legs of my pants cling to me with wet.
The patches where I knelt
Have turned a shade of icy, bloody brown.