Thursday, January 12, 2017
The Flower Girl
She got tired for awhile; no, that's not quite it. She started out tired.
It took her decades to get rested up. Her weariness came over her the
minute she woke up, everyday like fog off the ocean. One day she
named her fatigue and gave it back to the night. Without fatigue fear
flooded the yawning space. Once she put a name to it, she sent it to
school as it lacked manners and clarity, worse civility. It was all arms
swinging, legs kicking and mouth smacking. She taught it
to keep its mouth shut and its delusional appendages to itself.
With so much freedom from this ill-mannered bully, she got side-tracked
with grandiosity. Now I can conquer the world, she thought. But even
before she could translate the thought to words, Wisdom arched its
brow. "The world has already been conquered," it said. "You might want
to pick a bouquet of flowers and deliver them to a friend." Which is
exactly what she did. But first she took a long, cleansing look at them
herself. It is no small thing to be schooled by flowers.
Posted by Tonia Colleen at 4:11 PM
Wednesday, January 4, 2017
The suitcase is as close to yellow as any other color.
For a surprise,
the sisters wrap it with ribbons.
The brothers scratch blessings
in its yellow side.
The lovers latch arms.
This is why they think
they are strong, why they believe they have power.
There is strength
in their arms.
They embrace everything. Lift much.
The way is surprisingly rough.
She doesn’t mention the presence of hills
Ignores the ruts, sees only small declivities,
no ditches, no peaks, certainly no cliffs.
The road narrows, erupts with trees.
An unexpected wind sweeps down.
Avoiding the wind, she runs.
Years of running begin.
To slow her down, wild animals appear.
Wild animals distract her.
She dare not stay, dare not linger.
Wild animals can never be tamed.
Birds. Far off, now closer.
Finally, alarmingly near, in her face,
her hair, frisking her shoulders.
Infantry of feathers.
Battalion of beaks.
Posted by Tonia Colleen at 1:30 PM
Wednesday, November 30, 2016
She knows nothing.
Less than nothing.
This is what she knows.
She has agreed to what
she does not know, to what
she believes will be easy.
Knowing she knows nothing
happens later. This is now.
Now she does not cry.
She leaves her weeping behind.
Behind is where
her weeping remains.
A ring is slipped on her finger.
A circle of gold.
And then on his, his hand is
also captured with gold.
Pictures are taken.
Pictures help with
Nothing is needed
to help them forget.
Forgetting is easier
Between them is a suitcase.
Posted by Tonia Colleen at 9:15 PM
Tuesday, November 22, 2016
It is a simple occasion.
What can I say?
The wedding is
They wear black and white.
No, this is wrong.
White and black.
The bride comes first.
Always the bride first.
Florist. Caterers. Musicians.
Even the printers.
The guests bring gifts.
Tied with ribbons,
swaddled in tissue,
dressed in foil paper,
kissed with glitter cards.
She carries a glass bouquet.
Imagine. Breakable blooms.
Blooms carried like
sky hooks to love.
It is a happy occasion.
But there are tears.
Wept and unwept.
The tears are here.
Posted by Tonia Colleen at 7:50 PM