An itch below my left shoulder blade means I have something that needs expressing.
That's my signal, anyway.
As if a trapped insect is burrowing down underneath my epidermis.
A taste of metal in my mouth means the person I am speaking with is addicted.
We are our addictions, anyway.
Like the aftertaste of rice cooked in a new copper pot.
The sound of bells in my eardrums, even though there is silence, means to pay attention.
To be alert, anyway.
The clangs are brassy and cloying and often right before a fawn bolts across two lanes.
A sudden waft of roses means the spirit world is knocking on my door.
And I must stop and listen, anyway.
Arresting in its simplicity and clarity, it is the scent of a distilled essence.
A warm yellow glow around a companion means they are coming from a good place.
And I can trust them, anyway.
Natural and unexpected, but not blinding or even surprising.
A vacant darkness in someone's eyes means they are in pain.
Anyway.
About the Creator
Sav Map
Stories I find, or they find me.
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A Chore Worth Doing
Begrudgingly, I tromped down the deck stairs. The clomping of my reluctant feet hit each one as I continued to descend. The sound echoed through the silent Saturday morning air. My resolve to do this began to erode until a cool, soothing wind caressed my cheeks. The serene stillness of this quiet morning wrapped me in an envelope of peacefulness. I sighed in relief. Ready to start my least favourite chore, but knew no one else would do it. I grunted in displeasure as I leaned down and coated my brush in paint, then pressed it to the fence. Finally done procrastinating, I began, and I allowed muscle memory to take over.
By Donna Fox (HKB)4 days ago in Poets
Comments (2)
This is simply wrought and yet has an otherworldliness to it that transcends its simplicity. Or maybe I'm reading too much into it but there's no denying the feeling.
What a fantastic poem!