What a way to wake up!
One eye was stuck cocked to the side
like a cartoon character who gets whacked
in the head with a frying pan.
Regardless, I went to the theater and watched
with one hand covering one eye
to see only one screen. A palsy,
the doctor claimed, but be weary of weakness
over the weekend. I got an eye patch
and stayed positive. The weakness came
strong the next day, my cheeseburger
was too heavy to bring to my mouth.
I had to loop my arm around my father
to walk to the car. When I awoke
the following morning full paralysis
set it. I stayed positive and wrote
a haiku in my head which after reciting
to my mother she cried. It read:
Laying sac of flesh,
spirit cocooned within you,
ready to unleash.
Sleeping in a nest; my nest.
Built from Grandma
Morath’s loosely stitched quilt
hanging from the untwisted metal
springs beneath Myles’ mattress
three feet above me in our bunk,
I stripped knowledge off caterpillars
learning how to cocoon:
to take a moments break to stew
or to eat soup, break from tormenting
my brother, break to entertain my family
for the hope of ice cream later.
Maybe to admire the yarn
holding me; a critical trove
full of fantasy.
Shooting Star Sonnet
Talking future under a blanket at the tables bench,
it streaked like a welders spark over the ocean pulls;
retired for the night were the obnoxious gulls
who in the wind had their claws firmly clenched
to the sleeping rocks at sea. Like reflections from an avalanche,
it was the first which you could recall;
catching in action a shooting star fall,
and I caught your joy as our bodies flinched.
I caught your exhale of wonder, long like a cypress,
I caught your eye glimmer in the moons vigor,
and I caught your tenderness like a virus.
Then, the next shooting star tore space’s black curtain
revealing heaven, we both could figure
that we had caught each other’s love for certain.