War ... what is it good for?

I will never understand why
people think that
violence can bring about peace

--

April PAD Day 8 - violent or peaceful

Frozen in time

You say that
she's ancient history
but here I
am chipping away
at the rock
hard sediment encasing
your fossilized heart

--
April PAD Day 5 - discovery

Mirror, mirror

Searching to find myself
reflected in the eyes
of strangers

unwilling to stare at
the stranger behind my
own eyes

--

April PAD Day 7 - self-portrait

Night life

Six stars are
shining through the inky blue
ether of evening

battling the buzzing,
happy haze of city life,
where the lights

never go out,
and downtown domestics always do;
where screens glow

from every wall
and in every pocket as
we search for

meaning at the
speed of 4G two inches
from our faces

and forget that
all the answers are always
right above us

if we'd just
take a moment to breathe
and look up

--

April PAD Day 6 - night

Since we both like fruit

We ran into each other
at the market
poking and prodding the pears,

assessing them like the men
in our lives,
drawn in by the promise

of sweetness while tenderly pressing
to uncover the
hidden bruises that always seem

to spoil the moments we
long to savor
 

--

April PAD Day 4 - since (blank)

In the beginning

I was god
basking in your nakedness

molding the man
I wanted you to be

as I breathed life
into a dying love


--

PAD Day 1 - beginning or ending

Treading water

I carried you
held your head above water
when you were
drowning in misery

I drowned with you
unable to float us both
when the burden
you carried sunk
us both


--

April PAD Day 2 - voyage

When smoke gets in your eyes

How could I
see the smoke signals you
were sending me

when I didn't
even notice that our home
was on fire

--

April PAD Day 3 - message

No place like home

She sleeps in my bed
missing her own
but glad for the warmth

of my Egyptian cotton sheets
and the neutral
Target comforter set I shared

with the ex-boyfriend who left
me to play
house with a neighbor lady.

She thanks me for my
generosity, not knowing
I would burn that bed

and flee this tortured place,
run from this
incestuous den of communal pain

and the home built together, 
where any memories
of warmth have long died.

---

November PAD Day 27 - local

Runaway

A little girl came across our lawn
and knocked on our door. A pawn
no more. She was gone.
Past the dawn. 
Flew. 

Just a baby, innocence foregone,
she lay on my couch and yawned,
"No more." She was gone
past the dawn
to

late the next morning. She yelled, "Come on!"
when she woke. A little fawn
no more. She was gone.
Past the dawn.
New.

--

Creative Bloomings - Triquint