Shadow Duty


Shadow Duty

The sun rises in the East—
Battalions of shadows
begin their duties at dawn.
Cooling, covering, creeping.

At noon, relief arrives
in the form of mirror replicas,
shielding the East.

As the sun begins to sink,
slowly sliding, slipping beneath
the horizon, the shadows grow.
Long, tall, far, and wide
until they’re all that’s left.

Baggage Claim


Baggage Claim

I’ve got baggage—
under-eye baggage,
vacation baggage,
fucked up childhood baggage.

It’s not even the expensive kind.
A broken zipper,
a frayed seam,
and don’t even get me started
on the duct-taped handles.

Once someone asked
where I was going
with all that baggage.
“Wherever I want,”
I said.

Wildflower


Wildflower

Tiny holes hollowed out of the earth like graves,
and from these graves, life will rise.
Each damp cavity, carefully spaced–
two to four inches.
Soil, sweat, and strict scrutiny coalesce,
filling each earthen womb with precision and purpose.

The habits of the elements are closely observed.
The sun—it rises in the East, peaks at noon.
A heavy swath of shade sets about its duty at dawn,
shielding the west side of the barn until sometime after lunch.

The central garden takes its first drink of sunlight
while the morning moon still watches from the sky
and continues, bathing, until the moon returns
and only the most distant suns can be seen.

Each seedling must have room to grow, expand.
Never crowded, for they will wilt and die.
The should be fed water and sun and shade
until they’ve had their fill but never more.

They are God’s creations—living beings. Maybe
they silently cry for water when the soil is parched
and cracking, or call for bees to come feed from
their centers and spread their seed as they leave.

I do not know this for sure.
All I know is… If I were a flower,
I would be a wildflower, running along the highway
or spreading across a field. I would not follow rules.
Because only wildflowers sprout without worry
and bloom without permission.
Yes. I would be a wildflower.

Mirrors and Windows


Mirrors and Windows

When you look at me
with glitter and stars in your eyes,
what is it that you see?
Am I a mere reflection
of all that you are?
Strong, magical, yet insecure?
Or can you see through to me?
Where the insecurities overshadow everything else.
And the light and vibrancy hides away
in cobwebbed corners waiting for
their chance to shine?

To Be Continued…


To Be Continued. ..

My cover is plain,
never calling for attention.
Quietly beautiful
like a single daisy,
but I am no flower.
Prop me under a table leg.
I can take it.

But be careful of my pages.
They are delicate
like Bible pages
only less holy,
but they are well read
and nothing like new.

So I hide my wear and tear
and rough cut edges
under a simple dust jacket
because good condition
is better than acceptable.

Dreaming of Summer


Dreaming of Summer

Surrounded by grey skies, she exists.
The long, autumn days, her one and only love.
For an age, passions lay still, dormant.
As she dozes on a soft bed of dried, crisp leaves,
A welcome breeze blows, playing a soft tune
While the leaves dance lazily. She watches.
Bouquets of spice and slow, purposeful death
Lull her senses. Still, a part of her grieves.

Her love for fall burns low, like cinder.
It’s kind face, as familiar as her own.
It lusts over the lush curves of her body.
As its gentle breezes caress her, she sighs.
Bound by its simple embrace, she is safe.
Never knowing the cruel chill of winter
Or the sound of the bare trees mourning their losses
As the wind snaps and death approaches.

No, her briery pallet of leaves shields her.
Faithful as an old dog, tending to her.
But still, she silently weeps as she dreams.
The soft, comfortable love, no longer fulfills.

You see, not long ago, she stumbled
And fell into a vibrant summer day.
Her eyes a blur from their deep rest, she blinked.
Colors had come to life, taking her breath.
The world alight with glittering rays of sun.
The sight stole her thoughts, her words. She stood dumb,
Motionless, staring at the wonder there.
Ignoring a slight tug, she wandered deep.

Warm air wooed her with flattery and charm,
Enfolding her inside its new, strong arms.
And when the soft summer sun kissed her lips,
Her passions awoke violently, all at once.
Dreams of living in the tropical place
Enlivened her, anticipation of
Exploring and claiming it as her own
Flooded her senses with desire, lust, greed.

She begged for the caress, the fever, his breath.
But alas, it was not hers to have.
No.
For she belonged to the fall and he to another.
So now she lay upon her leaves, dreaming of summer.

-Brandy Meredith-September 6, 2014