By Aggy Waggy · 20 minutes ago
Easing into the bubbly water
Awkward, bobbing, then
Stiffening at the first sensation of weightlessness
This, slowly gathering the bubbles around us
You started to talk about retirement
and long naps.
I slid about at first, pretending not to float,
Then , loosening the the tug of guilt
We sank into the afternoon, released.
November 3, 2011
She Said She Said
We have things to say to each other
Hewn out of the hollow, dreamt in darkness
In between breaths, when we are on the edge of sleep
There are thoughts that take over when our hands are busy
We remember these thoughts when standing in line
At the bank, or at the waiting station, in between errands
There are indeed things we have to say to each other
The small, kind words, the gentle reminders of care
Murmurings, sweet and musical with laughter
There are words that heal and protect
Stated like prayers, the comfort and soft
Pillow of affection, tied up in a ribbon, offered
Then there are those that rise out of thin air
Stowed in the back of our minds
Rising to strike and out of nowhere, breaking hearts
October 15, 2011
______________________________________________
Yielding
Water will not stop just because you build a berm
or a wall to divert it from crashing in
The rain will pour, and rivulets will carve their way
under or over, pushing and rushing
There's a hand that guides the stream
that in the meantime holds it to conform, just as there is another
hand that releases the hold, and lets the dam gush forth.
So it shall be. I will let it be.
I will take this this journey and this walk,
Whatever perfume or magic I find will be the gift
Whatever I find in the end shall be all worth it.
"So I continue to continue, to pretend / My life will never end/ And flowers never bend with the rainfall"
-Simon and Garfunkel
"More than okay: I figure that getting clear about how I can't fight when my number is called to do so, is the first step to figuring out how I can."
- Jeff Nunokawa
October 14, 2011
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Perfume
by Aggy Waggy on Sunday, September 18, 2011 at 9:51pm
The smell of the sun on my skin is the drug that brings back happy afternoons
Yellow with sunflowers, sliding down hillsides on waxed boards,
Pine needles and sap stained jeans
Long, golden afternoons at the kitchen table
Sucking on buttered rolls and strawberry jam
Tea, thick and sweet with condensed milk.
I close my eyes and hear the chords played
On the cracked guitar. The crickets' opus in the guava bush, and
The pulsing, iridescent wings of fireflies, the few that softly land on outstretched hands
By the first show of stars we are hushed by Uncle Pete's story telling hour
And we enter the early evening sun-warmed and dizzy from the day's long pull
The moon softly lights the opening dream and there first star, always punctual,
Makes its appearance in the pink horizon.
The smell of the sun on my skin is the drug that reminds me of all of these.
