she dances a slow dance with death, barefoot, draped in purple, to music only she hears, whispers on wind tips, in and out from the shadows, balancing between dark and light, need and want, pieces of herself plucked from her core like the leaves of autumn called to sleep at the feet of their mother
she dances a slow dance with death, slipping deeper, deeper into the darkening night, eyes fading, heart jaded, breath growing shallow, voice silenced to a whimper, donned in purple darkened from tears long shed from wells gone dry praying for winter snow to gently wrap her in silence, where blessed sleep waits, that she might finally rest…that she might find peace
i share space with feral cats who glare through me with wide green eyes plotting my demise, I’m sure of it perched up high ready to pounce when I turn my back, waiting for me to close my eyes, their invitation to settle onto my neck, paws strategically pressed over my mouth and nostrils purring diabolically, conjuring nightmares that rouse me awake, gasping for breath
were it not for the fact that I feed them each day…quality pâté, tasty treats and kibble that they unapologetically retch while begging for more, i’d most certainly be a goner by now
and yet there are moments when they brush against my leg, purring sweetly or roll on their backs inviting me to give their bellies a rub or two, but never three, before nipping my hand a reminder, they didn’t need rescuing, my penance for lifting them from the wild, a lifetime of servitude, and knowing my place silly me for ever thinking any cat could be domesticated
~kat
Another poem today… taking advantage of some down time. Hope you and yours are doing well!
i can almost see the neighbors now their white-washed porch and blue metal roof, the brown-white marbled coats of their horses grazing along the perimeter, just beyond the thinning tree barrier between us trees still green with life, slowly fading, tip tops aglow in shades of amber and rust empty nests teetering like bristly blobs in the wind, nestled in nooks high above the bustle below at long last, autumn has settled in for a spell season of bonfires, apple cider, pumpkin spice, sweaters season of letting go, of gleaning what we’ve sown and offering what’s left back to the earth and sky I can see the neighbors now as the air grows chill as winter looms close and days grow dark as the veil grows thinner…thinner still it’s comforting you know, to remember that I am not…that we are never truly alone i see you…i see you
she spends hours coloring mandalas in adult coloring books from Amazon, dozens of them, I’ve lost count over time, she needs them, she says, they help to keep her mind from dwelling on the pain… incessant, excruciating pain sometimes late at night I hear the sharpener grinding wood and pencil lead… grinding, grinding, grinding and occasionally, deep moans as she shifts position the sound makes the dogs bark and the cats scatter to the shadows I can’t begin to imagine it, my aching arthritic knees seem trivial to the monster that consumes this once brilliant, vibrant, caretaker of others who now depends on others, on me, for everything I can’t begin to know when it may become too much for her to fight this impossible fight try as I might to ease the burdens of life I’m powerless to stop the pain…so… I keep buying coloring books and pencils and I cook her favorite things, pork chops, Dutch babies, sweetened coffee cream, Italian ice cups and I help her complete little tasks and big ones like getting the band on that citizen’s watch adjusted to her shrinking wrist I’m not a watch wearer but she has always been and it was important to her, I could tell… little things…are sometimes very big deals in sickness and in health, I once said and meant it…til death… an unwelcome visitor who taunts her daily as I do my best to hold things together to try to make things better in these worst of times…do us part
as the days grow longer, trees burst, dense and green, the forest floor grows dark nights, though shorter, darker still moon and stars hidden beyond the arboreal canopy, even on cloudless evenings; of course I wouldn’t know…is it dawn or dusk or midday? it’s hard to tell here in the woods where sweltering days are cool and damp, where squirrels leave remnants of hickory shells and millipedes slither through decaying leaves, where trees dance in the breeze, mimicking the sound of waves crashing into the seashore, where woodpecker’s wild calls echo from the heights, where crows cackle, cowbirds cluck and mourning doves coo from the shadows, and bright red cardinals perch nearby, messengers from beyond assuring us all is well, all is well
~kat
Taking a break today from the brevity of micro poetry. Isn’t this time of year breathtaking?! My senses are waking up from slumber…just had to pause to take it all in! 🌷
So it is easier for you to find all the parts/chapters of my ongoing fiction series, I created a new page that lists all the links. You can check it out HERE!
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Kat Myrman and Like Mercury Colliding with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
like mercury colliding... 