QueenBee

When I was little, we lived in Philly. Seven hours from where we live now, eight counting the time allotted for rest stops. And a little ways down the sidewalk from our house was this tree.

It ended with roses.

I process the funeral in snatches.

Glimpses, even.

I see my family spilling out into the cemetery

Long-lost cousins twice-removed,

Great granduncles,

Maybe I lost it one day.

Maybe I was tired of taking it.

I was put in a horrible

Toxic

Situation with horrible

Toxic 

People.

There is no out.

I have no choice but to survive the year.

I wait for inspiration

To strike me while I think.

I wait for a lightbulb

Or a thought bubble

Or lightning.

I wait for those ideas

I know I have to have

I remember a time

When I felt so free

And everything, anything, I wanted could be.

The person next to me was everything

The worlds we created were ours.

Our vision was color and light and laughter

Dear Mr. Snowman,

I wonder what it's like, being made of snow.

What have you observed? What all do you know?

On warmer days you could melt 

Or be blown away by the breeze.