Dec 04

The End of the Earth

It looked like
we'd reached the end
of the Earth.
The town that was
there every other morning
as we went over the hill
had disappeared 
under a sea
of clouds.

The moon hung
in the pale blue sky,
more muted than 
a baby's blanket.
The blue faded to
a pale pink
as the sky
met the clouds that
spread as far
as I could see.

As our car reached
the bottom of the hill
we entered the fog
and entered
a world
of flat light
and grey.
Nov 30

Knocking

You came and I jumped
every time you knocked.
I pretended I
wasn't home.
I turned my music off
to make sure
you wouldn't
be able to hear it.
And I hid
the same way I did
when I was twelve.
With my phone in my hand
and ready to bolt.

I prayed Mom and Dad
locked the door when they left
and if they didn't
I prayed you wouldn't
try and come in.
And your knocking 
became louder and faster
and it sounded so angry
and you were yelling for Dad to open the door
but Dad wasn't home
and I was still jumping.

And then I heard the doorknob twist
back and forth.
And when the door didn't open
you kept knocking.
And I was so happy it was locked.
But what if you just broke in anyway
and were angry
that I didn't just open the door
and who knows what you'll do
when your angry.

And then the knocking stopped
Nov 28

Urn

I received an urn
for my seventeenth birthday.
It was empty.
I told my aunt
I loved it
and placed it
in the spare room.
The one with the doors
to the crawlspace
that open and close
by themselves.
The room where
three of us
had the same nightmare.
The urn disappeared
a few weeks later.
Nov 27
poem 1 comment challenge: Brick

The Next Clue

My fingers
bump
along brick,

dead skin cells
scrape off

until it isn't
just my fingers
moving.

A shift in
the brick,

dried clay
and minerals
voice their protest.

But I win.

And as the brick
transfers
from the wall
to my hand

paper falls,
floats,
flutters,

onto the
pebbles.

The paper
murmurs,

52 West St.

in barely legible
pencil.
Nov 20

Fresh Snowfall

Nov 12

Earthquake

Nov 12

Playhouse

Footsteps crunch
broken glass.

Empty playhouse.
No- not empty,

filled to the brim
with cobwebs
and spiders
and dead wasps
and a blue plastic chair
in pieces
and a plastic table
tipped over next to
a plastic oven
and plastic dishware
spilling out of a 
torn plastic basket

and memories
some of which
have escaped
through the
broken windows.
Nov 06

November

Nov 06

Sterling Rock

There's a rock
under the chairlift
with a fence
around it
to prevent people
from jumping off

but there
is often be
two thin lines
depressed into
the snow
trailing
off the edge

evidence of someone
who wove through
the trees and
skirted the fence
to take the chance
to fly

if only 
for a second
before crashing
into the powder below.
Nov 06

Anticipation

Hands reach from
my heart
aching to feel
the first snowflake.
Her eyes strain to
find the first
sign of snow.
My heart's tongue
is out waiting
to taste the
second snowflake.
The nose takes
great gulps of air
to try and breath in
the third snowflake.
Her ears tingle
in anticipation
for the sound of
the snow landing
on the ground.

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