amwriting – Thistle Thoughts

Hello, 37: A Birthday Poem

This year most of
the world walked
a bit in my
self-isolation moccasins

The green of the air.
The scent of choking desert.

the cerebral rattling
has ceased,
broken through
the attic static

dawn rises
singing her canticles,
touches the killing fields

I am clinging to
memories of
blue parakeets
lullaby-ing me
to sleep

Glacier blue walls
and the autumn
scent of spiced apples…
means I’ve woken
up in Michigan.

the dancers become flames
devouring my heart

the dandelion fields
hold splendor
& the May sky speaks

Odd half-smiles
and congratulations
are thrown about
like the farewell rice.

A cherita.