all the lectures
in the world
on light
and waves
and chemicals
and cones
couldn’t teach me
about colour
like painting
at dusk
a lesson on colour
bag of fortune
I received a gift certificate for a made-to-order handbag. And i needed it. Though I did love my old one. It went with everything–no need to reshuffle all my accumulated wonders from one bag to another with each change of weather or occasion.
But it was frumpy and distended, frayed inside and out.
So I asked for another just like it..But with some embellishments and added dividers to keep things in separate compartments and easy to find in a bind. Of course this cost extra but I was glad to pay.
The first result was the maker’s
strange interpretation. Garish, too small and falling short of all I asked for and expected. Reluctantly the maker agreed to start again.
This time it was almost right so I acquiesced to make due even with the added cost. The finer leather meant I had to protect it from exposure to rougher weather. Treat it regularly. Lay it on its side when not being used to keep its shape. And I did my best.
Still, its decorative elements started to peel and threaten to fall off if handled carelessly. My notes stuck to glue seeping from the seems. The lining floated loosely swallowing smaller gems. But my biggest peeve is that one zipper that gets stuck when I open it fully. So I must fish in the dark
coming up with wadded tissues and crumpled wrappers instead of the treasures I stash inside.
—-
Fortune sometimes smiles, but mostly smirks.
poor timing
I step in too close
and feel my nose crush
against the revolving doors
I was never much good
at double Dutch
or skipping rope
nor holding out
against all hope
My coffee has spilt
over me like guilt
and leaves a stain
on what remains of my dignity
as I fumble to efface
the disgrace of once again
being out of line
and out of time
misunderstanding
I gave you this volcanic bit
Because it’s born of a heat
too intense to be contained
And it rained destruction
on all in its path
And even when too cold to sear,
it cuts if you hold it too tightly
And though it inspires
such awe and wonder
if you look closely
it’s just an ugly rock
Yet you found it cute
outdated metaphor
I’ve strayed from paths marked
And those prepared with care
I was proud heading off on my self-made way
Until I noticed the devastation I left behind
Roots torn up, moss overturned, vines ripped from soil so fresh and tender
Ecosystems still in foetal stages
will need many seasons to recover from my carefree strides
The path less travelled is but an outdated metaphor when so little is left undisturbed
It takes more courage to leave it alone
and more strength
to swerve and dance
within the confines
of the paved road
derailing
Him:
You’re the rocks on the tracks
That derail me
so I can look in ways
at things I’d never see
Her:
And you,
you clear the way
so the going is easy
as long as I stick to the path
Her (riding the metaphor);
But I need
detours and curves
and to swerve round bends
if I’m to stay intent and alert
Him (making way for her):
I would give you those
and add potholes and cracks,
but I know you’d veer
at the slightest bump
with small chance
that you’d come back
Her (fiddling with a rock in her pocket):
Funny how it never works that way for me.
Him (getting his broom ready):
Doesn’t mean it never will
the trouble with being grateful
I once received a red scarf as a gift.
“I noticed you don’t have any scarves.”
I had no exceptional thoughts on red, though I did prefer weather where scarves were unnecessary. I said, “thank you,” and wrapped it around my neck. I wasn’t and didn’t want to seem ungrateful.
“You do need a scarf, with winter coming. I like red. I think its brightness makes things lively. Especially in winter.”
“I’ve never looked at red that way.” And I hadn’t.
I wore the scarf once or twice to please, and on a handful of colder days. And truth was I didn’t dislike it.
People noticed. “That’s a lovely red.”
Then I received a red notebook. It was really practical and I liked the texture of the cover, the way it opened flat and the unlined pages. A red cell phone protector, I chose myself because it was the only one that stayed shut without a clasp. Red dahlia’s and a red keychain for Mother’s Day, because the colour reminded them of me, came next. The flowers were a nice gesture and I needed a keychain for my office keys (red is passionate). A red wallet for my birthday, because they knew how much I liked red, soon replaced my old worn out brown one (red is revolutionary). Soon there were red cushions covering the sofa, red placemats on the table and red recliners in the playroom. One day I overheard my daughter saying, “I see why red is my mother’s favourite colour.”
I closed my eyes to find that other colour, but all I saw was red.
first and last try
I’m not very experienced.
So once I had pulled the arrow back,
taught and aligned,
all I could do was release it.
I needed a target,
sure and inconsequential.
You were such a willing easy mark
Though I barely scratched you
(it really was just a shot in the dark),
the fletching
(yes, I had to look that up)
ripped through my fingers
making it impossible
to touch another.
(All anyone warned of was repetitive motion injury, but I won’t be trying that again.)
derailing
Him:
You’re the rocks on the tracks
That derail me
so I can look in ways
at things I’d never see
Her:
And you,
you clear the way
so the going is easy
as long as I stick to the path
Her (riding the metaphor);
But I need
detours and curves
and to swerve round bends
if I’m to stay intent and alert
Him (making way for her):
I would give you those
and add potholes and cracks,
but I know you’d veer
at the slightest bump
with small chance
that you’d come back
Her (fiddling with a rock in her pocket):
Funny how it never works that way for me.
Him (getting his broom ready):
Doesn’t mean it never will
the accident
You were swaggering through the aisle
already making us nervous
when it caught your eye
You didn’t let on
but talked instead
of your comparable acquisitions
It was just an accident
a stupid, senseless consequence
of abruptly reaching out
for what grabbed your attention
There was something almost endearing
in your thoughtlessness
How could you have known
it was so precariously balanced
that at the slightest touch
it would tumble
shattering on the ground
But that you could act put upon
at having to explain
and yet entitled enough
to pick up another one
as carelessly as the first
That you could so easily
sweep aside the debris
(with your foot no less)
shrugging a sorry as you backed away
redirecting your surfacing disdain
towards the door that wouldn’t swing open
to let you through
Could all be chalked up to unease
or some sense of accusation
But when you were offered a voucher,
a conciliation for your discomfort
That you could barely utter
a snide thanks
nor run out fast enough
to toss it in the trash
in full view
Left us baffled as to why
you came in here at all
jotNrot 
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