It’s such a common thing
among
the sisters of Zion.
So many walls up.
So much fear.
And worry.
And don’ts.
And can’ts.
And shouldn’ts.
As though they think
anyone will think
less of them
for the less
that others do
to them.
As though we
who have been
or could be
there
would ever
deride them
for seeking,
quietly,
for the help
others force them into.
They feel bad
and hide
and suffer
inside,
instead
of letting charity
never fail.
Men so often want/
to help damsels in distress,/
when we should shut up.
It’s as though her smile/
ignites his poet’s mind, then/
lights his fingertips.
[Smiles used with permission]
Not all amazing/
sunrises have to be red./
Thawing mists bring hope.
How can a man who’s/
seen ten thousand lake sunsets/
claim they’re all the same?
It wasn’t ’til he/
ventured out that he saw things/
he’d n’er seen before.
What should a man do/
when he knows she’s another’s,/
but he can’t leave her?
As if on some great/
cosmic cue, two ducks* performed/
a sunset fly-by.
OR
*flocks of ducks did/
She asked: “Why are there/
no tracks in the snow?”. I thought: /
“That’s a great question!”
Hot chocolate laced with/
licorice tea is my new fave/
of early mornings.