The wind carries cherry blossoms like pink snow
Stepped on they became confetti lining the streets on my way home
It continues blowing, rustling through the trees while cars honk their horns to a backdrop of reggaeton
Lantern flies clasp the growing basil, unyielding
Ignorant they’re to be victims plucked up and crushed between fingers
Delivered into a spiral of dust spun against the concrete
Snatched up forgettably in the current of air
Mid May opens its branches to the thick scent of gardenias and hyper explosion of pollen laying on the cobblestones in a brilliant mustard tone
Guitar strings play in the room above me, soft at first, then more energetic, like the Friday that warms from a frost to a sun-drenched solid eighties-era bloom
My walk home will show its grit
Replacing this beauty with garbage men collecting never-ending strewn trash
Deep satisfaction, the kind that comes from taking terrible risks pays off in the tilt of my head, the stride of my unreasonably long gate
Wedding cake floats from the baker’s window, thick frosting permeating the open air, reminding me that I’m not a Mother and have no celebration for Sunday Mother's Day
What I understood as he left the courtyard
Was profound sadness
Not that a new day had begun
But that he wouldn’t see her for another two suns
The air smells like fire
The sun is gone
Open windows bring in the sounds of a couple struggling
Breaking up
While the scent of everything burning lingers on
“I just wanted to feel something”
A woman’s voice cries from the top of her lungs
A man’s voice travels behind her, in an unintelligible mumble
His clothes filtering embers
Their fight fades into the wash of traffic
The smoke and fire drowned out their voices
Church bells crash in a ten o’clock gong
Wind chimes sway in the breeze
A neighbor is playing the piano in the rowhome next to me
Churning out tunes that fashion themselves into the backdrop of a murder mystery
Coffee and my soulmate keep me company
Couples hold hands walking by smile in a sun-drenched greeting
A lemon print dress that served comfortably as pajamas covered me
The courtyard is filled with lilac-colored day flowers forcing their final blooms
Cats strewn about plump with full bellies enjoy their casual lays
Morning pushes back from the breakfast table feeling satisfied prepares for the afternoon
How is it I feel lighter in the city
Walking everywhere
The rain tells me to buy a longer coat
One below the knees like those draping the ladies breezing past me
Exchanging afternoon gossip
Dipping while dripping into the thrift shop along the way to ogle curiosities
Warming hands with coffee still steaming
I take a page from their book of living
She’s old now, a half a century buried in her book.
It’s been so long since she’s been out and this is a new town.
Older than her, by centuries, and tonight had been a long time coming.
Picking out a black dress, pulling on opaque matching tights, she hangs skulls from her ears and zips up black leather boots.
Her husband surprised her with a gift, one that promised to send her back in time. It comes in a box built of black, the contents require fire to ignite.
Dancing is the reason for this evening, to old songs that make her feel young again. Some of those out with her are young enough to be her children, though she never had any.
Vodka on the rocks will provide the courage needed to move freely among those swaying to a soundtrack that her life was built on.
And pulling out her black box, with her black cigarettes, she smells fall and clove, and memories waiting to be emblazoned.
Inhaling it brings vivid movies, crackling into focus, a night on a bridge over black water, laughing and feeling like everything at daybreak was possible.
She shares them with her old heads, and the circle closes completely. Each of them traveling through the smoke sucked into their lungs and exhaled into this night.
It broke her out of slumber, each half of her living in two worlds, the one she is realizing, and the one she remembers.
