Scraps of Her


Scraps of Her

She was the glitter
in our all-too-literal lives.
She left a trail of it,
our littlest fairy. 
It was the dust of her,
like that perfume half
school glue and half strawberries.
All these little paths she created in our lives—
the silliness and dainty nylon net of her,
with sand spilling from her overall pockets
and shed-off Barbie Doll parts left like
clues: one tiny shoe, a pink plastic door
from her convertible.

These small reminders once filled our house
and some of them remained when she no longer did.
We find them like the droppings of her 
in infrequently visited drawers,
the corners of cupboards 
and the hidden pockets of the sofa.

I find her signs as I empty vacuum cleaner bags—
a tail of glitter through the dust that, unaware,
she left like breadcrumbs through the forest of our memories.

Little girl.  All grown up.
Off in a different world
that is like a new game of her own concocting,
this house a scrapbook
we would never choose to remove her from.

The prompt today was “glitter.”

Painting with Flowers, Canna: Flower of the Day, Feb 20, 2017


This Canna macro furnished the paintbox for this distorted study.

For Cee’s Flower of the Day Challenge.


“I wanted to figure out why I was so busy, but I couldn’t find the time to do it.”
― Todd Stocker



Like rich meals savored by candle glow,
the best things are best taken slow.
We need those moments in between
to reflect on where we’ve been
before we go on to the next,
lest we grow harried and perplexed.

Since you are always in a hurry,
in photographs, you’re mostly blurry.
If you would just slow down one minute,
we’d get a photo with you in it
so we could remember you
when you’re no longer in our view.

More than just a word or two
is what we’d like to share with you,
but how, we do not have a clue
since you just seem to have a few
to cast at us before you’re gone
to golf or bridge or bike-a-thon.

You need a sedative or bong,
but no one here can stop you long
enough to calm you down with either.
Dear, you need to take a breather,
for we’re afraid you might expire––
spontaneously burst into fire.

We’re only given one life per,
but yours must go by in a whirr.
Why rush around like a Mad Hatter?
It’s how we do things that should matter.
Turn off the lawn mower, smell the clover
lest your life be too quickly over.

The prompt word today was “blur.”