Niteponder

Slumberless, she hid
in the dark
between the crisp and sun-filled sheets
Her mind wandering back
to grass tickling bare toes
and pecans rubbing against bone
on the walk to the mailbox
yesterday


Of the sound of invisible chirpy birds
drifting through breeze blown sheers
while she lay under the fan
when she was six
remembering the smell
of crisp and sun-filled sheets


Of flush faced babies
with fat please-pinch-me cheeks
cuddled close, just an arm's bundle
suddenly legs too long
tucked back under
crisp and sun-filled sheets


Of the one time in life
when the spinning world stops
as all the days become magical
consumed
by passionate breaths
shared
while wrapped in crisp and sun-filled sheets


Of hearts grieved cold
and souls grown old
remembering choices made and pleasures spent
The truths, the lies
made pure through promises
amongst crisp and sun-filled sheets


Of the smell of strange skin
and of how men lie
and women let them
and children are lost
when they cover and cry
between crisp and sun-filled sheets...




(This poem is an excerpt from my chapbook in
progress called Men, Memories, and Other Things That Go Bump In the Night)