Camomile Vodka

The masks we don all day
for the men around us
taunt us from the wall,
in the solace of the night.
Every moment spent
under one of those veils
chips a sliver off you.

But there might be one person;
Someone
who tears off those masks
and smiles at the mess they find underneath.

If you don’t have that person
you stand a chance
to lose yourself.
You’ll end up
forever
being everyone’s cup of tea
and
never
someone’s shot of vodka.

And I sure do hope
that one person is on their way.
Because I’m on the brink of
being that cup of tea forever.
And
tea tends to get cold
and left on the breakfast table
until
someone remembers
to pour it down the sink….

Papyrus Musings

Books,
for some people
are like
the memories that
they might have
missed on making
along the way.

Just like memories,
Some of them get etched
in your soul
forever;
Some come back
to comfort you
when you’re lonely;
To give you
hope, camaraderie
dreams and visions;
Others threaten to
haunt you eternally

Life,
it changes you.
You might mourn
for that child who
didn’t make it through
the ordeal of time.

But when you
occasionally
flip through
the well thumbed pages
of a much loved paperback,
the child comes to life;
Once again,
you remember the
wide eyed speculations,
the exhilarating sense of marvel
that coursed through ever inch
of that diminutive body.

Of course,
it’s just a wistful reminiscence-
a nostalgic reminder
of how you perceive those
same words, fables and tales
in a different way now.
It makes you conscious
of how the years have treated you.

The ink might be
telling the story
that the writer wanted the
world to know,
but, the pages-
They tell the story
of the hands that
turned them, folded them;
Of the bookshelves, couches
and window ledges that they’ve
rested on.
They narrate the
tale of a lifetime

The book-
It’s your link
to your being.
In your kaleidoscopic life,
its a steady boulder,
sheltering memories that
you might have, otherwise
forgotten to cherish.

Alligator Scars

You wonder what happened

To the kid who spent hours
Skipping across couches around the room
So the alligators don’t get her feet.

She had no idea
That she’d ever end up
Dreading having to get through a day

I guess that’s what happens when
The game stops

She steps off the couch
And wades
Right into the waiting maws of the alligators.

Well, it’s too late now
I don’t want all this blood dripping
Onto a beautiful
Couch

But, oh.

What I’d give
To be perched safely
On that couch again.