crisscross

The subway rattles and we sit down. 14 stops ahead of us-we have plenty of time. I look up to see a delicate lady with pale skin, long red-brown hair with streaks of gray in it and the bluest eyes.

I can see it. The peak of womanhood. That long road ahead, is now only two steps.


I don't dare turn back, childhood is behind me. No more foolishness.

It's a boring car trip, just listening to Ariana Grande and occasionally singing along to it. The three of us sit there, six eyes. A pair on the road, a pair glued to their phone and one pair in their own world.

A vivid image, created in your mind while you are asleep
but your mind isn't asleep

the tapestry it is weaving, tells a story of 
anything to everything

whether you have been hit in the head

All the greatest writers kick and scream.
Hazy, dark images start to focus
Their quiet suffering is now howling in
Capital letters.

They faced the dark and poetry turned 
The light switch 

A plastic bag dangles from a tree like an accessory.
A necklace-unwanted and unappealing.
Yet it is still there

Everywhere I look there 
are used paper plates, plastic bottles and 
Various rejected items