there's no heartbreak here
just my girl, eighteen years old,
ready to face them
sneakers underneath
(pandemic proms are outdoors,
under tents, in grass)
she's taller, braver.
in her silver floor-length gown,
she masters the night
and aren't we a crowd?
this master-mix of humans,
standing on these rocks?
unsinkable us
right below the Molly Brown
(ready to swim. Win.)
ski season is done.
we’ll have to make do with yards
full of happiness.
i'll write a haiku
as easy as this damn day
filled with lines. and love.
you will never know
how hard i've tried to earn this.
you can taste the snow.
you can taste blue sky.
it comes in moments, this love.
moments found on slopes.
quarantine café
ready for any work day
(insomniac’s dream)
i will hike alone
well my puppy comes, of course
we seek alpine lakes
yet i must admit
this elevation gain kills
forty-something legs
but when the lake shines
on my ever-happy pup
it is so worth it
we’re home now. screen time.
i want to keep the rainbow.
the perfect sunset pic.
the lake moon rising.
the soothing sound of tent rain.
just being. outside.
love, in Portugal:
these perfect pastries, melted;
now just down the block
Kentucky cycles:
you can find happiness in
rolling hills, horse farms
the perfect respite
after seventy-one days
staying safe at home
mental sanity
in our short time here on earth
can be life-saving
hiking these mountains
with their divine mental cleanse
has saved us today
away from the crowds
away from constant worry
here. here we are safe.
my perfect birthday,
in my mind, pre-corona,
would never be this
(there might be mountains,
a fondue restaurant, views
not in the background)
but with so much time
and simply nowhere to go
love works its way in
my middle’s painting,
a dress hand sewn by my mom,
hand-dipped strawberries
and saved till tonight
my oldest breaks, repairs me
with this card; her words
my perfect birthday
brought to me by a virus
with two gifts: Time. Love.
