“What are you doing, love?”
“Brewing
coffee, cooking rice
thanking
geese that venture into dreams
loud
and early,
banishing
nightmares out of city skies,
plotting
ways to make it up to my heart; you, baby?”
“Wandering
through the woods with my eyes closed,
wondering
how to adorn my handwritten thoughts…
I have
been thrilling on the idea of easel poetry,
wee
bits of written life leaning on upcycled tripods.
Still,
no garnishing for my words’ canvases.”
“Kiss
them with coffee rings
real
ones. From a bit of dark and sweet
liquid
that slow-dances over the edges
of
your morning cup, kissed and tasted,
made
real by living lips, my baby’s
hot
lips.”
“That’s
perfect, love,
living
poetry written on coffee filters and rice paper,
garnished—what
a pretty word that is, garnished—
with
kissed hot and sweet coffee.
Your
nightmare, love, what was it about?”
“I
let some guy borrow my bike, my perfect bike;
brown
framed, silked in green paint,
ready
for life’s wars. In my dreams, I knew
I’d
ridden others, but none like my chosen bike.
I
went to the place where the guy was keeping it,
I kicked
all I saw. I wanted my bike back,
but
nothing there was mine.”
“You
let him. You let the guy borrow your bike.”
“I
know. I knew. The guy took care of my bike, too,
but
never like I would.
No
one can treat my baby like I do.”
“It
wasn’t the guy’s fault.”
“No.
And I wasn’t mad at the guy.
I
destroyed the place
because
I was the one to let the guy in.”
“Did
you find your bike?
In your
dreams,
did
you get your perfect bike back?”
“I
did.”
“Now
what, love? What will you—?”
“I’ll
spend days and nights taking care of my baby,
making
it up to us, showing love with heart and hands.
And
you, what will you do, baby?”
“I
will write rice and coffee poesy.”
- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #42: Choices, where Rosemary invites us to consider a choice we made (large or small) and write of what followed.
