worlds away (6.20.17)

How does light

become so bright

that you can’t see it,

that you are blinded

somehow in it and over it and behind it,

caught up, full flush–

yet shadowed. 

This exuberance,

this light and bright,

is inevitably tainted

painted colors we wish not to recognize

but can’t disguise–

our eyes,

are far too seeing, sometimes;

hearts,

far too feeling, sometimes. 

TPS XXVII #1260 (6.17.17)

Last night,

I took the first picture of myself

in four weeks

that didn’t make me cringe.

 

Today,

I am watching two people

across the street-

one of whom is spinning a sign-

but mostly they’re just talking

and I’m wondering if that’s an effective marketing strategy.

 

Today,

a cute barista remembered my name

and I told my friend,

and it made me feel less

like someone’s 60 year old grandma-

which,

I assure you,

is exactly what I look like.

 

Exactly.