Poetry

Color Into Noise

Up until the 1990s,
they let the peacocks
roam the grounds here,
temperamental as they were,
they would follow you
around the courtyard
and through the gardens.

The birds would
come and go
as they pleased,
flying between
the estate and
the nearby woods,
densely forested
though they were.

In the summer,
you could hear
them out there
most nights,
boys calling out
to the hens,
translating all that
vibrant color into noise.

Standard
Poetry

Secret Santa

I didn’t know for sure
until last Christmas Eve,
when earth and sky
shared the eerie twilight blues
and all the people seemed to glow
with rosy cheeks in
soft bright sweaters.

I was wearing
that tired black dress,
looking down at my children
and up to their father,
dressed up for the kids
as reward for being good.

They cheered
when they saw him,
Santa! Santa! Santa!

But maybe he is
too good of an actor
or not good enough,
because when I saw him
in that red costume
and white beard,
I realized what I was missing.

That night he was
a different man,
or at least
different enough
from the one I knew.

Here was a happy guy
the giving type
always kind
not afraid of a few drinks.

He was everything
my husband wasn’t.

And that was when I knew.

Standard
Poetry

The Winter Fox

I caught a fox inside my
house one morning,
his winter fur a flash
as he was running
down the wooden floors
and steps and past
the sleeping children,
’til he led me to a room
that I had long forgotten.

Under blankets,
wrapped in covers
where I laughed
with my brother
’til a knock came
from the back porch
like the second coming,
so the fox ran to the door
and he laughed as he answered.

And then we were both outside
in the cold, cold forest
the endless paths of winter
stretching out before us
and the fox is running free
on the ground and it’s snowing
and it don’t show signs of stopping
not until the morning
and I think that we can
make it if we just keep walking.

Yes, I know that we can make it
if we just keep walking.

Standard