A fog of days, my log of time,
grows roots, branches into shoots,
forms pods heavy with seeds.
One seed holds the nights
I swayed under the back porch light,
one too many glasses of merlot.
My sons slept, their faces like orbs
glowing from the shadows of their beds.
Another seed spoons with the afternoons
I napped away the warm hours,
head slung back on the couch,
my boys sitting crisscross applesauce
on the floor, watching
an endless banner of cartoons.
A third is filled with mornings –
I toss them onto the soil,
and they uncoil from the earth
bearing the fruit of moments to be relived,
But when the seedcases burst,
the new days blend into the shaded
dreams of the past.
Visit Holly’s Lost Kite to read her fabulous poem about a person’s view of the present.
Jo and I are happy to announce the inaugural issue of ouroboros! We’re proud of this magazine, and have enjoyed putting it together very much. Please visit, and revel in its awesomeness.
If I haven’t responded to your blog posts lately it’s because I’ve been working on the magazine with Jo, and also because of the collaborative issue coming up at qarrtsiluni, edited by Dana and Nathan. So don’t kick me off your blogroll, or your googly reader, I’ll be back, promise.