My Mom Warned Me About You
A sunburn on a cloudy day is:
An irritating pain,
that creeps up on you
When you least expect it.
Worse than on a sunny day,
More insidious.
The clouds amplify the sun.
My mother bundled me up—
Mittens, coat, hat, scarf—
And told me this.
I told her she didn’t need to worry;
That the layers were suffocating.
I came home, rosy-cheeked from cold,
Skin peeling,
And my mother said nothing.
The Seamstress
She’s been doing this a long time,
Is your first thought upon seeing the old woman.
And she has;
Her papery skin is calloused from years of needles pricking through.
She smells like clean linen.
Her smile has all the warmth of summer sun peeking through curtains,
Obscured but no less beautiful.
Her hands are skilled, although they shake with age,
Years of hard work showing in the simplest of tasks,
Her eyes are clear and kind.
Your second thought is
I want to be her.
Isolation
What is it to be alone?
The droning of voices so void,
To make my heart as heavy as stone.
I fear my life as a crone,
No one with whom to grow old.
What is it to be alone?
You have my heart out on loan,
Leaving me empty and cold
To make my heart as heavy as stone.
Love is an island to which I’d like to row,
I shout and shout yet make no noise.
What is it to be alone?
I fear to never find a home,
To die without being enjoined.
To make my heart as heavy as stone.
Soon it will be time to reap what I have sown,
I know that loneliness is my choice.
What is it to be alone?
To make my heart as heavy as stone.