Updated 9-11-2018
For Hugo
All things vertical tilt
outside is the color of water
even light is dangerous
Within these walls nothing moves
the room is a box of flesh and breath
Prayer appears
Trees snatch power lines
and sound is air
that writhes and screams
in conflict with itself.
We skitter like fledglings
far from a bough
Then a call astride the winds
scented like rain and sap
from fresh cut pine
The bidding:
Come here. Let me have you.
~~Kay B. Day/A Poetry Break
(Ocean Publishing)
Beach Soup
Only a child knows the true meaning
of the ocean, that shells wash up
to be collected and tossed into a hole
in the sand, mixed with seawater,
blended well and served up to taste
on a yellow plastic shovel
to a parent who proclaims, Delicious!
Only a child dashes into surf
to man an inflated raft that sails
a dangerous course amid
pirates and sea monsters
that nip at tender heels.
Only a child can follow the wind
blown across water
from some faraway place
and filled with the joy
that innocence reaps, select
the perfect shell to carry home
to winter. When the ground
is cold and still and hard,
a tiny hand retrieves the shell,
cups it to the ear as mystical waves
lap from a distance, carrying the smell
of beach soup delectable and fine,
making the frost melt slowly
and surely as we stir.
~~Kay B. Day/A Poetry Break
(Ocean Publishing)
________________________________
The Road to Tookiedoo
for Valerie
When the day ends
like a bent spoon
and we know we need
to get away for just
a little while, we point
the car towards the road
that zigs and zags through
country where night seems
as long as the highway.
Small talk canters
like a song tapping
into quiet hills that hear
confessions—children, husbands,
dirty clothes and coupons.
How life makes us struggle
sometimes. We bring
a big cup of strong hot coffee,
because there’s no to-go
in Tookiedoo. And we smile,
drinking up harmony,
struggles bouncing off
the car like roadkill.
~~Kay B. Day/A Poetry Break
(Ocean Publishing)
