In a Nut Shell
It seems years,
yet, also not,
when strewn on my path of mustard,
shag, un-raked carpet,
I held the gismos that distributed laughter.
A box in every room kept boredom at bay
They were my children,
bright bobbles of joy
that grabbed my bubble
and jumped high enough to pop it
again and again.
Days were greedy and ate minutes
like popcorn on Saturday afternoon
and the blond babies grew,
the brunette passed her coin
to them in a watering can.
She was a dream sister now,
gliding in the garden of heaven
with a hose that wept diamonds
and she smiled, they said.
They knew the way, you see,
the way past death into the light.
It was paved with their innocence.
Then suddenly after my face
came out of the weeping pillow
and up for air, I saw them
slip up the ladder of years
and stop for the longest time
tenaciously on the rungs
of slamming doors and rolling eyes,
pierced parts and falling love.
Then it was gone.
Freedom hit me hard,
as if all the eyes that I claimed
were in front and in back
finally closed their windows of worry
and let me see.
And what I saw