the NPR cadence
of poetry...
phrases lilting
over low rolling
hills...
helps me understand
why
mine
belong elsewhere

they touch and bounce
down
hover spherically...
frozen water drop yoga poses and
morning birds
perched
flit zoom
peck
notice
layered dimensions
snow dreams and the allure of a perpetual July

as long as I sit in this chair
my poems remain confined
to the same scenery
but now there are puppies
chasing the chipmunk

©Erin Croley

clouded eyesight
makes the foggy morning appear clear
first scent of coffee
brewing
hides fence posts and
frosts grass
supernatural awakening

©Erin Croley

yes, I will chase you through the half mown field
a sloping path from pond to barn in heels
throw walnuts at the tree, staining my hands,
to prove "like a girl" is amazing,
and wrap you in my shawl as night drops and music rises

if you will let me hold you
again and again
when the hiccuping sobs take over
leave crusted salt on your cheeks
when you can't seem to pick yourself up off the floor in the morning
when simple decisions cause a shaking paralysis

you are hide-n-seek and porch swings
mason jar lanterns and floating fabric
crickets and dew drops
backseat windows down singing
not this compressed version of perfection

you are;

©Erin Croley, 2015

take me again

by the hand

with you and the sea

and the expanse of

life ahead

I cannot be lost

©Erin Croley

the dream of Oregon

settles back in

I escape bed early

to sit with it

connect it to the grass grown wild

and become irrational

about complacency

©Erin Croley

distant planes and the blast

of a train horn

support the morning chatter

 of Cardinals, pigeons, pileated woodpeckers

and some high-pitched warble

I can't place

I stand in the middle

of what should be a walking path

with a steady current washing

over my feet

stare at yellowed strawberries

stunted cucumbers

and decide to drink coffee

©Erin Croley

curled together with heads bent

and legs tucked like pretzels

we share dreams to greet the day

I envision us

as an egg

he asks

how my belly opens

because he wants to return there

"for 100 years"

and I find it hard to accept either

as impossible

©Erin Croley

I don't know the stages of dementia

but today's blend of current reality

with high school,

where some of us are occasionally lost

and she is happy,

seems better than yesterday's tears

and anger at knowing

it was going to happen.

©Erin Croley

(from a #WordStew prompt)