Circus School

This morning I watched leaves chasing a school bus. They must have overslept and missed it. Yellow, orange, and even a green one were skipping along the paved road behind it - jumping over and under one another, cartwheel-ing and roundoff-ing, like brilliantly outfitted acrobats headed to circus school. The bus driver, who was most likely a clown with over-sized shoes, suspenders, and a smart hat, must not have seen them, or surely he would have stopped and let them on. I ran over a couple with my car.

Bliss

It is Saturday in the late morning. The work of the week at home and in the office is done. I am dressed somewhere between pajamas and day clothes...closer to pajamas. There is no agenda set for the day. In the corner of the kitchen, the coffee pot quietly percolates a morning song I hear every day, though usually much earlier than this. Today I can really appreciate its song. Ah, the smell of fresh brewed coffee - strong and bitter and sweet all at once. I have no place to be but home. There is bacon cooking slowly in a skillet on the stove top. Blue flames gently lick the bottom of the well used pan. "Sizzle, sizzle, pop," says the pan. The bacon's salty aroma perfectly joins the coffee smell. Their duet permeates the whole house. I drink the fresh hot coffee, a perfect balance of bitter and sweet, and it shocks me awake. My eyes open full now. I see a day full of promise. From a distant room, I hear the old well-used kitchen cabinets gently opening and closing. The house is otherwise resting and is still. It prepares for the raucous that will come later in the day. My love calls to me with an endearment from the kitchen, spatula in hand. He asks if I'd like toast. Bliss.

Disrobed

Dark bare branches peeking out and over and through golden leaves,
as skeleton fingers and arms freeing themselves from brilliantly colored clothes.

Pieces of disrobed golden raiment float and fall and land on the ground,
soundless, but for the struggle of liberation.

The dying writhe and twist to be free,
the living cling on.

The cold damp ground becomes cloaked in warmth and gold,
while the naked body dies and becomes still.

The Death of Society

I saw the death of society yesterday.
I was at Walmart.
Great values.
One stop.
Bells.
Bargains.
Lower prices.
Better living.
Girls, not women, wheeling around babies in carts.
TV tells them what to buy, what to eat, how to care, how to cope.
Baskets full of Mt. Dew, frozen food, diapers, formula and baby clothes.
Bargain bins of leftovers.
Old men and women standing in line.
Old clothes.
New car.
Counting crumpled bills and pocket change.
Nothing wasted.
Young men text-messaging on phones.
Thumbs busy.
Minds busy.
Two steps behind their wives.
Kids crying and no one paying attention.
Kids crying and parents yelling.
Profanity-laced encouragements to shut up or else…
Kids misbehaving and no one paying attention.
Kids saying, “I want that!”
Parents saying, “No!” too many times.
Kids taking what they want.
Parents letting them.
Buying.
Taking home.
Forgetting.
Tally: Kid-1, Parent-0
Or is it really: Kid-0, Parent-0?
No winner.
No boundaries.
No values.
Anything goes and it will – it does.
Goodbye Parent.
I’ll miss you Child.
Innocence, life just won’t be the same without you.

My closet.

My closet is organized by color with sweaters on top and shoes down below. Most of the clothes in my closet were carefully selected, scrutinized and tried-on at the store. A few items were rash purchases, thrown into a cart or grabbed while walking by in search of something else because the price was right and the whatever-it-was seemed cute on the hanger at a glance.

This morning I stood in front of my closet, looking left to right like I was reading a magazine article. I started first at green, then flicked through purple, pink, red, blue, orange, brown, white, ending with black. I laid my eyes on and touched dozens of shirts appropriate for every temperature, pants – plaids and plains, skirts – short and long, jackets – indoor and out.

I have worn half of these clothes, it seems, like a million times. The other half never leave their space on the rack, hanging there like little corpses of styles-gone-by. All have been washed and rewashed over and over and have been paired in a thousand combinations for every imaginable occasion.

This morning I stared at my closet organized by color, those living items hanging among the dead, and decided that I had absolutely nothing to wear.

I come out the door...

I come out the door through the warmth into the fallen day.
Cold wind hits my face.
Cold words hit my ears.
My eyes sting.
My ears hurt.
Harsh language from a calloused friend floats on the wind.
Empty words.
I am tired of hearing it.
A city bus roars by, empty of passengers.
It tries to gain speed on a flat street.
Black smoke curls in the air behind it like a dragon exhaling charcoal fumes.
Equally empty cars, like schools of mindless fish, zoom past and around the vacant bus.
They are too many in number and are in a hurry to be nowhere.
A tattered man, younger than he looks, sits huddled in a doorway.
He looks at no one, yet sees life clearer than most.
I avoid him.
His poverty might be contagious.
I go shopping with money I should not spend.
I do what I want and try not to think about it.