Silence is this afternoon

My baby spreading arms
trying to hug bougainvillea leaves.
Pink is her sunshine.
Spring is her garden.

I am cold.
My fingers shiver from the
hot touch. My coffee spills.

Toward the end of the stretch
a faceless driver tries
to parallel park.

So difficult
to follow a pattern.

So easy to be swallowed whole.

Silence is this afternoon,
worn out memories,
dried wounds,
achy humors,
smelly surprises,
too many traps.

Outside someone is playing it loud,
“Let it go..”

Oh
that
damn song.

**

My bougainvilleas are back from winter hibernation without any prior notice. Just one fine morning all leaves turned hot pink. It’s my favorite time. I know April is national poetry month. I know silence is always my cup of coffee tea. Yet when days fly, I work hard to make time to find a pen and give my thoughts a voice.

Happy National Poetry Month. Write Poem it out. 

4 thoughts on “Silence is this afternoon

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