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I wish she were here with a mouthful of sweet pear laughing she liked to go barefoot I laughed at her funky feet skipping and trampling she held my hand as she held her breath I hold it out but she is not there she never knew that I cried and she would always wear red and sometimes purple and occasionally green never yellow or plaid or striped or black and I never knew why she wore red because I never asked she would dance and cry on Tuesdays she never liked roses either but tulips and wildflowers cooled and melted her trembling sobs into smiles it hurt to be her and it hurt to pretend I never asked her not to cry © 1998, TJ |
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I know TJ will forgive me for my poetic license in this piece. When he sent it to me, some of the returns were in the wrong place, it seemed. TJ, come and give me hell if it is too wrong. |
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Scraps |