Azure

A Little Boy

is riding his bike outside my window

A Cubs fan

Should a boy’s preference count?

The pedals are whirring - or perhaps it’s

the air conditioning-

Frantically spinning the wheels.

The boy is keeping his head on straight,

is gripping the cruiser tight

And meanwhile I neglect my keyboard

and let his journey grip my mind instead.

He’s young,

ripe for the plucking,

an age considered ripe enough to easily rot.

The horrendously paved road is clear enough

for the child to ride his bike in peace.

I easily pity the unlucky boy, even as I miss

the trash bin.

I’ve got too many things in my head,

each licking off the crumbs of the next,

snowballing.

My thoughts pile and roll until eventually they’re

split by a tree.

My grip shifts down my hands as the boy meets

his tree.

I don’t like tears.

I’m reduced to syllables,

I’m a constant vowel,

A synonym.

I’ve got too much in my head.

Ten points last semester

Twelve this semester

No! Enough this semester

A young woman in yellow appears,

eyes a stark contrast

You should’ve been outside with your son.

I should’ve finished this paper by now.

I should’ve gotten accepted by now.

The unlucky boy with the skinned knee.

He’s a lucky one

with an unlucky bicycle,

but this is all about me.

My eyes are closed tight, so I’m still sleeping,

I dream of peace within the endless night,

an eternal darkness without sunlight.

In my mind a memory plays, worth keeping.

A time at the beach, my mother’s smile,

The sun on my shoulders a burnt red spreads,

but then the sky, once blue turned to bright red,

and then the sands of time began to pile.

The sky is red, The sea is black and gone,

the sand begins to fall and sucks me up,

I gasp for air but air is not enough,

I pray a prayer to take me home at dawn.

At last, my eyes open, I’m awake now,

with nothing wrong but sunburnt shoulders in pain,

Breathing slowly I try to keep maintain,

and step out of my bed I standup somehow.

It was a memory, a dream,

a nightmare;

At least it wasn’t too real

‘cause I’m still here.

The winter air turns cold on a winter night.

The grass, brown and frost-tipped, yearns for the first ray of

Light at dawn.

The trees bow clustering for warmth

And the blue jays sleep as their coats turn gray,

When moonlight saps the Earth of its color

And shadows embrace the world in haze.

You may feel empty, longing even, as your soul proceeds

To drift and wonder.

But just before she is drained of blue, Heaven wakes up,

Because God takes a paintbrush to the sky,

Strokes of rose gold soon ignite the Sun.

Ah, the Sun,

A beacon beckoning the dogwoods to bloom,

Enticing the robins to wake the world.

“Rise, and cling to the warmth that graces us!

Watch the sunlight diffuse, getting rid of the night’s shadowy blight.

Hear the trees rustle from the morning winds,

And feel the air thaw on a new winter morning!”