so, more and more, i've been thinking

moreandmore

i've been thinking about my cat that loves sitting in puddles when it's cold outside. how he likes to rub his face on my elbow when i'm sewing patches to the knees of my first child's bluejeans. blown and blown again ~ i know these patches will not last, but they're beautiful. they came from a cut in an outfit outgrown years ago. and, to sew old memories into new things, and to make the depth deeper in doing so? these are things the grown ups know.

forget about the irate.
forget about the bills
and the money and the way
you look when the sun hits your face.
these places aren't where lives are made,
they're just places in the shade
where we hide when we get tired

suffragette

What I do
is try to feed
my mother's memories
back to her
all the while
knowing that they can't stick
because they're new
to her
and nothing new sticks.

We should all have dementia. It would help.

moreandmore

Why this makes me think of The 6th Sense, I'll never know. I make the oddest associations sometimes.

suffragette

I don't see dead people.
Just waiting.

Arthur Itis

and you run and you run to catch up with the sun
but it's sinking,
racing around to come up behind you again.

think pink.

suffragette

Kicking around on a patch of ground in my hometown.
Still waiting.

moreandmore

Waiting for something or someone to show me the way.

Arthur Itis

And then one day you find ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun

bang.

moreandmore

Hello, and thank you

asphalt

cause all we dig are graves and memories
and all we share are smells and sights

live on .. for the sake of your senses