The poem
lures me
through
a narrow
uncertain path.
As I walk
the corridor,
my mind
unravels
like a lotus
blooming
at midnight.
A small
window
of opportunity
surprises me,
opening up
in fragrant
and colorful
petals,
only for a second
then it fades.
©️mft
I don’t want to go back to the place of my childhood. But I don’t want to forget.
A young homeless couple
living below the poverty line,
among the sirens of despair
Dream of stepping lightly,
waltzing on the cliff of hope,
high in the rich hills of midnight
Moving to the rhythm of the universe,
to the song in their hearts
to a light show down below
Slowly, in their own time,
giving each other their hands,
they find their desires
Discover themselves, their passion
in the City of Angels, dancing
like Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire.
No dreams
No restless legs
No Jiminy Cricket chattering
in my ear to keep me awake.
Just a deep sleep
with a train of Zzzz’s
that seemed to serpentine
above me
into the celestial night.
A pleasant, restful slumber
as if a fairy godmother had tucked me in.
As if she read my favorite story
in her soothing, sleepytime voice.
Nighty-night, my little son,
the fairy with fluttering wings said,
as she waved her magic wand
that glittered over my somnolent head.
©️mft
I come to the mat humble, born into this life with a single heartbeat.
Legs folded, palms facing up, clarity comes to me when I am open to receive.
Wisdom and knowledge I seek
with each wave of movement, in each new but familiar pose.
Standing straight or on one leg, I reach for the sky,
and smile in the face of discomfort.
The closer I move toward balance,
the more I feel united by the spirit of my internal life.
Some days I float effortlessly with strength in my hands,
other times I lean back to stabilize and restore.
I close my eyes to the rest of the world and listen to the soothing sounds of the ocean’s breath.
My son rarely listened to me. My in-laws thought he needed to see a psychologist, but he does well in school, and the teachers haven’t complained yet.
An excerpt from The Mallards on Flash Fiction Friday.
I beware the self-righteous,
those pedestal dwellers,
who should me to death.
As if they know
what I need to do
or how to run my life.
you should do this
you should do that
you should get married
you should buy a house
you should go to church
you should eat more vegetables
stop should-ing me,
should-ing others.
©️mft
