A spoonful of dreams Makes me think of All things sweet Yet I wonder what if They are sour or bitter Like memories, nightmares? Can I stir them into The cup of my life Without the fear of rousing Demons that I had denied A place at the table A setting in my mind!
It was more purple than green An ugly gash refusing to heal Salve nor balm, rest nor restrain Strong enough to erase the pain A bruise so blue, a crimson tear Sweet hurt with trembling fear Yet, I tend to these injuries deep Purge the venom, not let it seep Into crevices of my soul so grim Discard memories like dead skin
It hurt a bit, the little scratch When a vagrant nail scraped With nonchalant smugness; What pained more, was the yarn Pulled out from a cozy space It stared at me, pleading repair It’s world ready to unravel With a stitch now haywire
I held the woolen memory Lovingly in my warm hand Still smelling of mothballs Just subdued by gentle wash; Grabbed a frigid crochet hook Delicately weaved in the strand Tied a neat knot, pulled it tight Tucked it all away, out of sight
Sequined dreams In the sky As I stitch every teardrop Into the firmament For you to see when You gaze at the moon In my memory
It was a strong heart But feather-light it floated Buoyed by dreams, hopes Reaching the sky so blue; Tie it firmly with icy strings Till the cold permeates Freezes that tender love For warm and flush It tends to bleed red Staining all the world!
What colors do you see, In this unfinished portrait? It waits for blue From the waves To fill vacant eyes A contrary wind Reversed ocean To bring you back
My broken heart, an artifact In a spectacular box intact Lying in tarnished pieces With crumbling petals of roses A Babushka doll, now faded Holding a ring, long discarded Stale memories wrapped In tissue paper yellowed Bury them all with me When my tired soul flees!