Back Pocket

The orbs of our West,
those tumbleweeds,
tickle the sage with their thorns
and roll in a lonely freedom. The cumin seed-sized
feet of a hummingbird
carries pollen to the
Tabasco red and spicy tonic orange
daylilies. A tiny person reads the
miniature sheet music
on a tin, clunky yellow toy piano. She sings loudly and off-key
with a could-care less look
because all she wants to do
is sing and play
and she is yet to know failure. Still in process,
the silver, pink  and blue
hot sugar glassy strings
form into cumulus clouds
of fresh, airy cotton candy. The orange dot,
on the blue flame wick,
of a Mexican devotional candle
sits altar-like on the middle of the old stove. As you and I breathe in and out and
exchange recycled air from
millions of years ago,
we sit at our old chrome dinette set. The muted blue clay light
of early dawn
turns to raspberry-lemon sherbet sunlight. Now another day to jot down
and capture
the world’s insignificances
and bring them to
beauty in my
back pocket.
Copyright © 2018 by Carolyn M. Bevington. All Rights Reserved.

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