A Robotic Day

Night fell as squinting

Eyes remained glued to bright screen

numb legs unfolded

a buzz like a fly

in my head and in my foot

flicking a switch on

room flooded yellow

mouth dry, but back here now,

nothing else but white

An Ode to Hugs

A mother’s arms,

The first to hold.

A teddy bear,

Chasing away monsters.

A dog on its hind legs,

Paws wet on shoulders.

A heavy blanket,

When outside, thunder roars.

A hunched palm,

Under the midnight sky.

A cup of tea,

With an old confidante.

A lover’s warmth,

Full of promise.

A child on your lap,

Pudgy arms around your neck.

The final embrace,

To the grave.

The Red Balloon

So much depends upon

staunching the flow

from the cut

in my thumb

after the palette knife slipped

staining the painting

crimson

like the red balloon

against the setting sun

when the curly-haired child

ran for ice-cream

only to stop

and look up

to see her childhood

floating away.

Haiku on nostalgia

Run, whispered the voice.

What else would innocence do?

Slipping through icy

Paths, against the backdrop of

The bloody sky, chased by

Nostalgia, what

To do now, except paint a

Rosy smile, masking.

Sixteenth

There was a child, who treaded shorelines,

Feet sinking into sand so fine.

But now she watches the sun bleed into the ocean,

Hand clenched to the trigger of an invisible gun.

Lifting a glass for another drink

The mind desperately fumbles to link

Two places on opposite ends of the globe.

In one it was under waves she dove,

The other mere loneliness.

Yet in drowning there is no caress,

Only dark denial of hands that refuse to touch

The corals, the fish, the never-ending rush.

Remaining instead in apple-like memories,

Tarnished now by stains from strawberries.

No longer a child, red in the glass,

Ignored is her plea to return to the past.

A Starry Night

Yellow, stashed at the back.

White, forgotten in the sink.

Brown, tossed to the side all year.

Blue, from the bottom of a backpack.

Smooth and cold,

Like the air outside.

Fingers moving to

Kindergarten days.

Filling the crevices between fingers,

Flowing through the lines on my palm,

Sticking to nails like sand,

Snaking up my wrist,

Dotting stars across skin

And canvas,

Swirling like clouds in autumn:

A starry night.