Small groups of flowers ,
plants in bottles
In each corner of this house
All leaning towards the light
Altars of belief .
And in her head lists
in no particular
Paul K song “Don’t come too close to the window
Somebody out there might see “
Kiss me ?
Kiss me ?
Put on your dress
Hurry back home .
A constant refrain :
buy eggs for zuchini and banana cake ,pot the red geraniums ,mulch the olive trees ,catch the caterpillars eating the kale ,snail pellets ,yoga class monday
get a bolster to use for the upward dog ,have i got the prolia stuff out of fridge ? .phone cassandra
where is ? sort that bedroom .and vacuum upstairs ,pay that bill from hospital ,throw away those medical pamphlets
rinse mouth ,push toilet button twice ,apply cream to sore skin ,watch out for cold water on hands
and dont swallow cold water
be careful of your skin,youll bleed,youll bruise,youll burn
Are these buzzes offerings too?
Fixers to the ground?
Flowers and plants are lifting to the heavens
These mundane messages too may be anchoring to this life
And Paul K ?
The girl without her skirt?
exposed ,vigorous ,
full of sexual promise, dangerous
A danger lost with age and illness.
Are these offerings a farewell ?
or a summoning back ?
A memory as offering to God and gods ?
Not a sacrificial offering as such
Just a medley of reminders and cautions ?
A funny celebration of what was ,is and could be
As it was in the beginning
And ever shall be.
But hope this world,my world