Winter Destruction

The cruelest time is winter.

Green, nesting in the folds of flower petals,

That once basked in summer sun


Crackling in dryness.

Then comes the stomping,

Crunching of ice.

Innocence destroyed.

The Bluest Eye

Originally posted on Whisper and the Roar and Brave and Reckless. Written for feminist book title prompt: The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison.

In the bluest eye,
I thought I’d found
My heart’s desire,
As Judy, in the movie,
Once said.
Now, the bluest eye
Holds no warming flame
Of home.
It turns a mirror
Up to me and shows
The fool that I have been
For selling pieces of myself—
The plates, the cutlery,
The sheets, the towels,
The quilts and bedspreads,
The leavings of a life.
The leavings of a house.
The leavings of myself—
Without a proper winnowing,
And sold it all at Garage Sale prices.
In return, I thought I’d gained
What I’d always wanted.
But I leave emptied
Of all my leavings
In the bluest eye.

Morning Mirror

As a woman of a certain age, use the magnifying mirror
To coat your lashes with mascara
See the eyes of your mother looking back at you
Or the eyes of the girl you never were
Watch as your lips take an unintended twist into a line like your mother’s
As she said romantic visions were, after all, just so much fiction
A momentary indulgence like rich chocolate
So much better left untasted.

Better to stay with the concession of sacrifice in the everyday:
Don’t fill your head with fancy highfalutin ideas,
Don’t need an education to be a waitress,
Get used to doing what you have to do.
Good sense for the day to day
Is not found in the books you like to read.

Her voice has long been white noise.
Her wise counsel dripped pearls of beer.

It’s amusing.
Comical, really, how this happens:
How the face in the morning mirror becomes
Your mother’s staring back.