1/9/12
As kids we were all
chapstick and chewing gum
fingertips and butterflies
This is the beginning of something, or perhaps the middle - but the image is all I have. The closest things to me are the hardest to write - why is it that the people closest to me dance on the tip of my tongue, that the closer something gets to my heart, the more I want to couch it in irrelevant details or overdone prose? I'm pretty good at writing pain - so as my life has become full of joy, the writing tends to dry up - the words won't come. Maybe it's because they don't have to, but that feels like a cop out. I want to express what is real, not just what is sad or upsetting.
The lines creeping out
from the corners of her eyes
are shy now, testing the waters
each gray hair a treasure
a reminder of the miles
we've traveled together
hands tightly clasped
around the stick shift
of a little red car
MAaaaaan this is hard.
Gorgeous!
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