Did I stutter?
Leaves might stutter or shutter
when the wind howls and growls
Did I stutter?
When the fire gutters and mutters,
I know the wild dogs yowl and prowl
Did I stutter?
The rooster utter and the daybreak cutter;
I channel the owl as I scowl.
Did
I
stutter?
Did you ever feel the sky press so hard?
Do you ever dream and feel anointed?
Something cool caressing your forehead.
Lingering
Suspended over your crown.
Close your eyes and dream sweetly.
Softly
Feather soft
Float
Remember you are anointed, crowned, chosen.
Washing dishes in ice cold, stagnant water.
The bubbles are all deflated.
Finger in the eye
Pulled your nail up from the nail bed.
This is a place of peace.
A cathedral many would officially call it.
But when I stepped inside, I wasn’t here.
I was in another place, maybe another dimension.
Because here I knew that I was in the presence of something greater.
Something larger
Something extraordinary
Something enchanting
Something incomprehensible
Something ancient
But most importantly, something good.
I’m not talking about good like you describe a child that behaves.
I mean goodness.
Something that we can all agree is profound.
But that was a portal.
And I want nothing more than to cross through it.
//
There are times I remember walking through this place
And I can picture her sitting quiet, alone, eyes shut
She was beyond, wandering in solitude.
And she opened her lips and sang. She sang to God.
She sang without looking around for anyone to hear.
She sang without a pulpit. She just sang.
And that struck me deeply.
This one had gotten it right.
She knew who she was.
And how I wanted to be on the other side.
Warm soda is better than soda on ice.
Room temperature drinks in general are better than drinks on ice.
First, ice is overdone in drinks anyway. You go to a restaurant and order a drink, which comes with a glass mostly of ice with some drizzle of syrupy soda. Pay $3.00 + for a glass of sugary water. No thanks.
Second, for those with sensitive teeth, my heart goes out to you. The ice just makes the pop sting and throb against your pearly whites and gums.
Third, ice dilutes a perfectly fine pop. You lose the integrity of the libation. The point was to drink something sweet and satisfying, not sort of flavored, off-color water.
Fourth, your hand won’t get cold holding the can or the bottle. ‘nough said
Fifth, save the ice for real things that need to be cold, like beer or ice cream.
❣️
If the world is ending
then why do we keep doing the same things we’ve always done?
Grocery shop, commute to work, drop the kids off at school…
If the world is overpopulated
then why are there no young people having kids and we’re in a fertility crisis?
Soon enough, we’ll have a dying population with ghost towns of old selfish, grumpy people with 0 legacy..
If we’re so progressive
then why are girls sucking fake ears on camera for those dollar bills and attention?
or boys play games and want a blow up doll rather than the real thing
or nobody cares about the good of the other anymore…it’s all about number 1.
Makes me sick and bloated.
If….then…why?
I had this dream that really shook me.
My family were all huddled in a home hiding from the bombs outside.
No one dared breathe.
There was a knock at the door and the harsh, halting call of the military police: “Send them out. “
Tiffany and I were forced outside the door.
Yes, Tiffany was in the dream randomly.
The rest of my family waited tensely.
The police officer started questioning us.
“What are you doing?Whyareyouinside?Whoareallthesepeople?”
Everything he said sounded garbled like he was speaking underwater.
Far away. Far, far away.
Tiffany and I kept stone-y faced and answered with as few words as possible.
I honestly can’t remember anything other than watching Tiffany across from me, the officer between us questioning.
I was staring at it.
What it was made my jaw almost drop to the floor.
I wanted to scream. I could only scream with my eyes.
Staring up from the floor was something I had never seen in my life.
A severed head of a woman, eyes wide, staring back at us. Two arms sprouted from her head, splayed out on the floor like a spider.
A tongue flickered in and out of her face slowly.
Her wide eyes rolled up to Tiffany, and it crawled toward her. Using her hands as a springboard, she trampolined off the floor and landed on Tiffany’s head.
Tiffany didn’t bat an eye. The officer continued speaking at Tiffany, and she was answering…as far as I knew.
The handsy woman ruffled Tiffany’s hair, pulled, jawed her skull, pretend clipped her hair.
And I could do nothing. Could say nothing. The grilling from the officer continued. Tiffany stood as if nothing was happening.
Then, handsy noticed, stopped, noticed me.
She slithered down Tiffany and crawled toward me.
I was wearing a nightgown and as she passed beneath it, I could feel her pause, eyes rolling over my bare legs, staring at the between.
I felt cold hands grasp my ankles, fingers clawing their way up my legs.
Then, the hands morphed into poniards, grappling into my shoulder blades.
Warm, sliming breath on my neck. And then, sharp bite, suctioning to my shoulder in the part where you can’t reach the itch.
I didn’t move. If I did, I knew the military man would do far worse to me, Tiffany and the rest. Tiffany knew that, too.
This was the test.
How far would we let handsy woman sink her teeth in?
Then, I woke up.
I saw an anime a few days later with a demon character who looked the same as handsy.
Orange days don’t exist, but for a moment in our brisk time. A moment, seconds, minutes, eons, weeks; nobody knows and nobody counts; we’re too enraptured when it happens. You know what they are – not when skies are burning red with flames against them. They happen when skies are burning orange, yellow, red, peach, rose, sherbet, blue, purple, coral – as the sun sinks like an anchor into wherever the sun goes to bed. Must be a nice place. That’s an orange day, vibrant yet subdued, and it is an eternity.
And we look upon it like an everlasting candied Crush in hand, slurping it down, engulfing the taste buds, washing over the throat, engorging the lining of our stomach and intestines with true fizzing and bubbles that pop back up over the tongue and through the teeth.
Yes, orange is the color of love. Can’t you remember eating spaghetti-os shamelessly smearing the yellow-orange canned goodness all over your chin? That was good stuff – simple – but g.o.o.d. And there was nothing complicated or overdone about it.
Don’t you remember watching a goldfish swim and wondering if it really is all that bad to have a memory that lasts upwards of 30 seconds max? What wouldn’t we give to forget some things. Be blissful; I guess a goldfish’s life is a constant orange day.
What I wouldn’t give for that eternal moment of “orange days” when I wish for better days, but everything is actually fine. And I am side-by-side with the one who makes my insides curl and calm at the same time. Yes, cocooned like a ball of orange fur on a windowsill with sweet citrus blossoming in the air.
Orange is the color of love –
alive,
congruent,
complimentary,
vibrant,
real,
giving,
warm,
truthful,
unabashed,
unashamed,
undaunted,
wary,
divine,
daring,
outermost,
innermost,
close,
large,
small,
biting,
bitter,
burning,
dreadful,
eternal,
graceful,
grateful.
🧡
if it quirks.. 