“You and the Park”

I am looking at the bark of a pine tree, wondering if it has always been orange and purple and only now do I notice.

Children’s voices from two yards over giggle across the drive.  At this distance, it sounds as if the youngest is squealing over the inequities of freeze tag:
threatening to go tell Momma:
threatening to quit the game.

You can hear the highway from here if you sit very still and don’t hum.  And there are birds.  Red ones.  Their songs aren’t as pretty as some of the more plain ones, but you can’t have everything

And speaking of everything, I wish you were here.


  “It Should Be Easier By Now”

It should be easier by now,
years of practice
ballerina tiptoeing
oozing sunny day yellows.

People say to me
You wear such bold colors
Paint with all those brights
Are you always this happy? 
Tell us your joyful secret;  they want to know.

How do I explain that this isn’t about embracing
fluffy pink but rather a whistling in the dark?
This emersion in singing birds, friendly daisies, blinding neon greens
nothing more than my failed attempts
to stab the night
to keep the black away.