Clothing Giveaway

I pulled on a sweater of an amazing woman

who died.  Hot pink, comfortably broken in.

I liked this color better on Mom, it said.  It’s not

your shade.  Aw, come on.

And her bustline?  So much more forward than yours,

like her great heart.  More.

I’ll wear it anyway, careful to be respectful.

I’m a neutral in training for hot pink.

 

As I placed the pointy elf hat on my head,

a pink chuckle. Yes, wear the hat.  The world needs

more hilarity.

I agree.  And it goes with my hilarious new glasses.

Hmmph.

 

Child, I guarantee you’ll have more gumption with us, the sweater said

begrudgingly. I guess you’ll do.

But Christ, don’t even THINK about wearing

the wild shamrock socks!

 

J. Pratt-Walter, © 2023

With You

 If we rebirth, do we also

redeath? Let’s consider that

and what meaning it could bring--

 

and what is either but a mirror and passage

to the other, a sly animated

palindrome on acts of life and time?

 

No matter what, I want

to be born anew with you.

I want to die again and again

with always always you.

 

J. Pratt-Walter, © 2023

Summer Night on the Porch

We sit on the porch and watch the sun harvest the last

of the light, you here because I pulled you outside to quietly

ponder the feel of time stroking our arms.

 

I would gladly trade a year of my life just to sit

on this porch with you, breathing in the mimosa flowers,

the old white dog shedding her hair all over our feet.

 

I would lean back in grandpa’s wooden chair not minding

the hardness because you are near, and hear the first cricket of summer

begin his luminous song.

 

We could sit here remembering the weight of all our years,

then, a meteor!  And our hands would reach out to each other,

fingers linking as if they had minds of their own.

 

J. Pratt-Walter, ⓒ 2023