Carrie Reitz
Tragically Early
The ground is still brown, the sky still gray,
But two purple flowers underground refused to stay. Stretching their arms, spreading their green,
winter declared over, at least that's what it seemed.
Black night fell on their crowns, bringing a strong shiver. The early flowers were too early; and they began to wither.
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Only a whisper,
a strong word,
too strong, for
someone like me.
Reflections.
The past.
Regrets.
I can't,
I won't,
I don't want
to deal with this.
A childhood fading.
A voice forgotten.
A dream lost.
Too strong a word,
I can only whisper.
Please, remember.
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I want to push a button
that would stop your motion.
Slip a letter in the toaster and send it to the you
of yesterday.
A pleading note with many loopy L's and apple A's,
that might convince you
to collect all the marbles
that have rolled under the sofa
or fallen through the hole in
your pocket.
Too bad you can't remember
how many you had to start with.
Then maybe we wouldn't
be here, playing twenty
questions with white coats,
while they guess and poke.
Maybe there's nothing wrong at all. Maybe you're just tired.
Winter Night
Winter night, never to be
the midnight blue of fall
or the speckled darkness of summer.
Worn out orange,
diluted grey.
Unsettling and enchanting
all the same.
I know it is night,
but it's hard to believe.
There's a glow
that shouldn't be.
A burning glow.
A blurry dreamland,
all my own.
At the Top
Told not to climb trees,
I found a tree to climb.
It was tall and green,
emerald jewels for leaves.
Bathing the world in green light.
Climbing up the first branch was hard. Stepping onto the second was easy. My hands and feet had found
the ladder hidden in bark.
Higher and higher I went.
Brighter and brighter it got.
The ground was already gone.
Clouds crawled closer.
Branches became fewer.
I heard wings.
I climbed higher.
No more steps. No more green.
Only the sky and clouds
all around me.
The birds, were so big here,
the clouds so white,
the air so clean,
my heart so right.
I had discovered a whole world
of fluff and feathers.
A world of freedom only found
at the top.
How Dreams Work
You asked me how dreams work.
Well, if you tilt reality at an 83 degree angle, then you have a dream.
And the light is blue there.
Blue in the sense that it is sad.
Nothing repeats,
that would be boring.
Even reoccurring dreams are different.
He wore a feather in his hat one night,
and a blue flower the next.
Then you asked me who the man with the hat was.
He's you. Everyone in the dream is you,
just different pieces.
There's a purple girl there too,
who when she speaks,
golden dust spills from her lips.
And then you're running, or falling, or flying, or dying, or sitting.
And that's how dreams work.
Still Frozen
The more the more she hesitates,
objects slip away.
Her time frozen in a moment where the seasons never change.
The more the more she hesitates,
name and faces are lost.
Her eyes searching, always searching, for what was half forgot.
The more the more she hesitates,
the further off I am.
Her hand half posed to grab my own, but I've already left.
Tabula Rasa
Your eyes hold nothing,
two smooth speckled stones
I plucked out of the river.
Your mouth never opens, except to expel or pull in the air.
I wish to hear your sigh or laugh.
And no step shall you
take without another's
shallow prints to follow.
You are a mind
prepared for impression,
and I scramble to find
the spark that will ignite you.