March 14th, 2008

It was the biggest snow storm of the year they said
she watched it on the television as she sat out on her sunny porch
wondered exactly what the cold would feel like
was bored of permanent summer

"Every snowflake is unique."

She learned that in second grade
used her scissors to cut one out of paper
saw the snow on the mountains to the east
but her parents never drove her there
not even for the day

She bought herself a pair of boots
good for 40 below
and a ski hat that she wore like a fashion statement
people called it cute
she called it wishful thinking

The next summer a friend asked her to go down under
it was winter there and she was ready
had a jacket full of down
stood inside her friends walk in freezer to prepare

When she got off the plane it was July
they went to the resort
her friend was going to snowboard
left her at the bottom of the mountain
she stood in the snow drift alone
for the first time ever in the cold
and felt little
the flakes landing on her one by one

She tried, but she just couldn't find the snow flake that matched her

January 27th, 2008

It made him smile when it was half past any time
He loved clocks
the ticking
the dainty hands
the chimes that called the hour
He kept three in the house
only one was wound
If he had his way he would have had them set to
places he thought seemed exotic
Alice Springs, Calcutta, Johannesberg, Prague, Reykjavik
It was all the places he'd dream of going
on snowy nights
and hot sticky humid days
But he was too shy
would never want to bother the neighbors
with all the bells
so he kept the key in his pocket
and just imagined how he would feel if it were six o'clock
twelve o'clock
nine o'clock
and not three

December 9th, 2007

her hands were so small next to the storm
small and chapped
there was cream in her purse
but she did not take it out
instead
she looked up
at the dark clouds

there was rain on her eyelashes
that looked almost green
even though
it was not the kind of storm
where the roof blows off a house
or a girl ends up on top of a witch
wishing for home

that might be better
than the one she was in

her storm
never ending
was more
a tempest in a teapot
a little bitter
and wishing for honey

she pulled her coat closed
and crossed the street

October 18th, 2007

she walked the dusty path to the observatory every other day
it was always bright out
but she still tilted her head upwards to search the blue sky for stars
she never saw any
except for the bright sun shining
but she knew the stars were there
shining strongly like her heart
but deep in hiding

October 9th, 2007

What do we really know about the word broken?
except that it is something that we want so badly
that sits suddenly in pieces at our feet
with shards too small to glue back together

but we try anyway
forgetting that there are
essential pieces
left out
when finally reassembled

for sure!
from far away the cracks
always seem invisible
like the thing was really mended

but closer inspection brings only sadness
for what sits upon the shelf
once so whole and beautiful
is now only a shadow

September 21st, 2007

she kept her heart
there in the pantry
resting on the shelf
between the cans of food
the potatoes
and the spice rack

she liked to think
that perhaps it would
be tasty
in a soup
or a stew

while in that little room
gathering the ingredients
for delivering the love
of an open heart
she noticed the sugar
and fingered the flour
noticed the sugar
and decided that
perhaps
baked in a cake
would be the best
way to present it

she imagined it warm
right out of the oven
and words she would
spell in cursive
with icing
it would be a novel
about adventure
and mystery

The first word would be
"Together"

August 20th, 2007

In August, while sitting on my porch, observing the brown lawn, I remark casually to the flower boxes that the sun beats down too hard and that there is no rain.

I notice that after I say it, even the most hopeful flower feels doomed to have its pretty petals curl slightly black.

The bees laugh because they know that a little black looks good with any outfit.

They are not afraid to buzz about it singing an accidental tune in the key of G.

The hummingbirds join in, darting around my head. Their wings like fine silky dresses, dancing to a slow romantic waltz.

My fairy Godmother, Hollywood, turns me into an animated princess with a whistle on her lips, glass slipper on her foot and an invitation to crash the ball.

In August, in my garden, there are oranges and roses and a vine that snakes five times along the fence.

And the ladybugs are careful to avoid the thorns and are always worried about the state of the soil.

Regardless, they fly to my fingers landing and leaving me with just enough time to make three wishes.

One. Two. Three.