The Forgotten Carousel
Horses trapped beneath chipped paint
Pose like peonies in a garden
Of gold twirled poles
And circus music.
Their glassy eyes roll
Skyward,
Open-mouthed
In porcelain
Honeycomb prayer
Liberation
In the mind of a man wearing
His favorite pinstripe suit,
He carries fortitude in his briefcase
And passes it forward to Iraqi taxi drivers
And kids splashed by puddles
On streets too busy to notice
Their Rastafarian reflection.
A mother sees and sighs a song
Of palm shaded redemption
From her place between two cracks
On dampened market pavement
Just before grabbing the last
Ripe lime from the stand.
Three states down and to the left
A lady in her mother’s wrinkled polka dot dress
Sips patience on the rocks
From her clapboard porch,
Watching thunderheads build
On an orange horizon.
Tuesday: paint kitchen trim.
Wednesday: hang our laundry.
Friday: write my memoir.
Sunday: open the Book
Health
We understand when thunder hangs heavy,
Weighty as the hearts of the starving,
Riding low like the basket
On a young girl’s arm
Deep in the woods without Off!
Or Grandma
Or any one to hear her comment on the ferns,
The squirrels,
The wolf
Safety
Her voice carries around the world and back
To that carousel west across the country
In glittering California.
The captive horses hear and neigh
Within themselves at her words,
At the sight of the Warrior
Bolting across amber hazel skies,
Charging like seasons through their cracked
And fragile minds,
Sweeping their worlds
Of leaves, of worms, of moss
Wisdom
Dawns on a stormy horizon.
Provision
As dollar bills begin to fall
On the carousel’s beach
Littered with beach glass and abandonment.
Thousands of paper crescents float
From the billowing sky, heads facing upward
As if catching one last glance
At the world that exists beyond yet beside
The one we call our own.
Curved like hammocks, moons,
Question marks,
They follow on the coat tails of gratitude
At the horses’ swollen feet.