Wood Smoke in Chill Air
The cusp of the crisp
Leaves dry fallen crinkle
Beneath bicycle wheel
On the front porch
Molly, Mary & Marley…
“is this love
is this love that i’m feelin’?”
Fantasing about smoking
My last two cigarettes
While i punch these keys in.
& quill them.
Quietly reveal them.
It’s 6:03 in the morning.
The Golden Arches
Across the street
Light up thru the
Draping American Flag
praying The curse
out of my gift
Without cursing it out
& i shall enter
Like A turtle
& when i return
I will be turquoise
Gold & Purple.
A ruddy merlot.
~ MaxWell Shell
I am thankful for this afternoon’s sun
It is warm and clear but not oppressive
like the heat of August.
September has turned into a healing month
but it is taking time to find this new groove.
Sitting by the pond in the shade of a pin oak reading
I see painted turtles basking in the sun.
They have lined themselves up on the half-sunken logs
a procession of a dozen or so sleek black shells reflecting
in the water.
Any movement I make and they quickly bolt.
If I remain still, one by one they resurface
and retake their respective places in the scheme of things.
I forget a lot of things in life are like that.
Precious things, often simple things, come into view
when we finally sit still, observe and listen.
And finally today I do just that.
~ c.m. brooks 2014