168 Readings | 1 Rating

Midlife, Tremulous

Kingcup, Desert Cholla, Prickly Pear,

Pincushion or Spiny Star Cactus:

I wanted to pull up all the desert plants

From their roots, hairy and mad;

To keep a book of their deaths.

White sheet morning.

Where is your face?

I jogged this body

Past Sunday newspapers

Still sheathed in new blue wrappers.

Only the birds have woken up, but man!

They are really going at it.

There are so many things

To keep alive around here:

Two dogs, six potted plants, three fruit

Trees, an olive bush, and an immeasurable number

Of blades of grass reaching for the sun,

Scorching their way to yellow, then to nothing.

I keep trying to see the stars at night,

But the mosquitoes come out, so I stay shut up

Inside, locked on the couch, and then I wait

For morning. Morning comes, and sadness

Wakes me.

Midlife, tremulous, joints beginning to question.

I had a dream my bangs turned silver;

Coarse as a wire brush. I’m afraid

These glasses don’t work. What else am I not seeing?

My hips blush. I’m sick of beauty.

I miss you and I want you to crush me.

All we do is talk about fate,

In a peeling paint car, on our way to nowhere.

Posted 09/05/16
Comments (2)
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Thanks, Meg! I'm a huge fan of your writing; you have a lovely way with words.
09/06/16 6:59am
This poem is so sublime. Thank you!
09/05/16 6:39pm