Toys on the planet Earth

(After Naomi Shihab Nye)

When it is safe again to
leave the house, I want to hear
the names of all your paper dolls
and see your bedroom
in the new address.
We will make up silly songs,
dance around the house,
reread favorite books and
make new imaginary friends.
We will sit in the yard and
drink pretend tea, dig a little,
dream a lot - will you
teach me your secret recipe
for mud cake then?

NaPoWriMo day 11

I am no longer shaken by the mention of your name

It took me more than four years

because I could not follow the

schedule. Some days you wake 

up late and miss the bus, you 

forget to take your pills, you 

don't pack any lunch, you get 

home so late you skip shower 

and evening prayers, but yes, 

Aldous Huxley was right: all

you need is sixty-two thousand

four hundred repetitions to turn 

a lie into a truth.

How little we know

the litany of sweltering days

to sit out in the yard 

under the shade of the avocado tree

drink freshly squeezed lemonade

wait for the neighboring insects to

cry out the terms of rain.

now we go through soultry,

nameless seasons unaware of 

closure, we search the sky for

clouds only a few of us can name.

nothing would make us happier

than the song of cicadas.

NaPoWriMo Day 9 - prompt by Christina Thatcher

The old man who cried wolf

(after Pablo Neruda)

And does the father who 
lives in your dreams
die again when you're awake?
My dad has already made up his mind.
He leaves this world little by little
taking a small sip of unconsciousness
two or three times a week
so we don't discover his plan
to go without a goodbye.

Today's poem is based on a prompt offered on Instagram by poet Amy Kay. The idea was to use a question as first line and then answer it in the rest of the poem. I have used a question asked by Pablo Neruda in his 'Book of Questions", which I was introduced to a long time ago by a dearest friend. 

I built myself a little triumph

I said 'enough'.
the letters
clinged to my tongue
furiously tight
and I held on
to those two syllables
loving them
for an entire minute,
before releasing them
gently and walking away,
no breadcrumbs to
bring me back.

NaPoWriMo Day 7 - prompt by Christina Thatcher