Dawn breaks through the morning glass,
an unwelcome intruder,
golden light tickling my eyelids.
I want to brush her off,
to laze in the hazy quiet before the alarms.
In this half-life space, my pillows are clouds,
and my blanket is the whole of the earth,
swaddling me like an infant,
where nothing aches, and nothing asks.
The breeze from the fan brushes my hair
as it hums a tender lullaby
that was written just for me,
and as my eyelids close I can touch the hem
of my dreams,
stitched together with copper thread.
Walls woven with my mother's hugs,
My father's laughter,
My daughter's singing, sliding down rainbows,
playing catch with shooting stars.
I am kissed by the sweet sticky scent of cinnamon rolls,
fresh coffee, and woodsy stacks of books.
Salted air pours itself through open windows
carrying the welcome hush of the waving sea.
I can almost pinch the aquamarine of it
between my fingers.
BEEP! BUZZ! RING!
The alarm yanks me upwards
with corporate, expected, force.
I sigh,
rising to the gray of the same day mundane
that we chased after so briskly in our youth.
Now the grass is only greener when I sleep.

I measure bitter bricks,
shaved from unsweetened slabs,
weighing the impulsive thought
of daring,
to taste the bitterness,
licking the rich dark earth of it,
longing to savor
the treasured ancient world
that grew it.
I temper the desire instead,
melting it into a swirling brunette liquor
enriched by sun-thickened gold.
I mix the crystalized syrup
from nature's canes
into powder made from dried nibs.
Their life has been brutal,
dried, roasted, crushed,
until they turn into
the rarest of brown sapphires,
only to be finely milled
for other's pleasures.
I whisk the whites of *****
until they resemble cirrus cloud,
streaking the sky blue bowl - no longer a clear day.
As if I were born to play mad scientist,
the ink, glitter, and clouds are brought together
with the heart of the harvest,
and just a whisper of expansion.  
I unfurl the silken tapestry
and send her into the hearthen forge.
Waves of rich, decadent warmth roll in,
a fragrant tide filling every crevice,
taunting even the lurking ants.
Time's invisible hand lets go,
and a captured morsel on a boat of silver,
lifts to my lips.
I plunder the symphony of indulgence
on my tongue,
and groan, like a lover,
fully satisfied.

He stood on the bank
since sapling days,
watching the river wind,
making homes for feathered guests,
who came, and went,
then came again.
He held secrets for lovers,
initials carved into his bark,
and he learned the ache
that came with love,
and couples came, and went,
and others came again.
He relished the giggles of children,
that tickled his leaves,
when his arms were strong enough
to hold the ties of laughter.
They'd swing out, splash in,
then swing out again.
He saved a life once,
when the waters rose,
crumpling stone, twisting metal.
He caught her in his arms,
wrapping branches around her,
his roots holding firm
in the ground that made him.
Her tears sank into his rings,
and though the raging waters subsided,
her grief remained, deep in his roots,
and he longed for the love and the giggles,
that had come, and been swept away,
to come again,
wishing his arms could have saved
all that the torrent stole

I climb over the wreckage of you -
bent rusted iron, crumbled stone.
My cheeks - stained with soot,
hair -  dandruffed with ash,
skin - raspberried from sweeping the concrete
with my knees.
I unfurl the flag,
emerging from the tumultuous cocoon
of your cannon fire.
The colors fly - dancing with the bullets
in the summer soaked breeze.
I can just make out the haze of the gate
through the thick smoke pouring
from your tempered chest.
A smirk flirts with the corners of my mouth;
The resolute defense of the ruinous gloom
you will carry in dingy bags
made from the cloth of superiority.
I will feast upon a slice of cake
in the golden glow of morning.

The bright cold expanse of the world greets me,
It is thunderous, stark,
I feel infantile and foreign,
so I say 'hello' with a scream.
Then your arms cradle 'round the whole of me.
Safety envelopes me with warmth.
My ears find the rhythmic drum of your heartbeat.
I surrender to it's lullaby,
and dream.

The aggregate sidewalk won the battle
with my tender unsteady knees,
which wobbled too eagerly forward
chasing butterfly fairies and June beetle wisps.
cherry red tears drip from the wounds,
echoing the cries from my eyes.
Then you arms carry me home,
your lips humming tunes as you wipe away
the hurt with soap-scented love.
I smile and break free,
ready to run again.

I shrink myself into hoodies,
a game of hide and seek
where I am permanently hiding,
bedroom doors closed, hinges oiled with sullenness.
The mirror distorts what I see,
reflection bending to their teasing
until the beauty that you gave to me fractures.
Your hands squeeze my shoulders,
centering me back atop of reality,
handing me the tools to mend my own heart,
and showing me the mountains I have flicked off of my shoulders
as if they were mere mosquitos that loitered too long.
I let gratitude scream through my arms,
and embrace the truest love
that anyone could ever know.

Grill smoke wafts over trees
curling with familial laughter,
giggling, playing hide and seek
amongst the leaves
as it carries the savory scent of char.  
I peel open the tender green husk
of fresh shucked corn,
it squeaks - old door hinges,
guarding the secret of nature's gold.
It smells of sunshine, and days in the dirt,
like my daughter's hair, as she clings to my leg
with all the delicate softness of stubborn corn silks.  
We lick ice cream in the sun,
the cool creamy liquid puddles
in the canyons between fingers,
in the corners of smiles,
leaving their sticky memory
in cocoa colored rings around shared quips.
We catch fireflies,
collecting night's wisps in cups,
making wishes on the tiny, blinking,
handheld stars.
We let the moonrise tuck us in,
when the crickets start singing lullabies,
cherishing the long days
when the clock can keep the calendar company,
locked safe away in the closet,
until August's end,
forgotten.

I built a throne,
in the darkest parts of me,
where the light wouldn't reach.
I wasn't ready to wear the crown,
or own my royalty.
The vines grew over my name,
tangled in my mane,
until I was caged
with shame.
I knew I was worth more,
but I could not remember,
what it felt like to roar.
I was muzzled, muted,
from sheathing my claws
to stay inside their box,
against the paradox;
trying to fit in
while my soul knew I was wild.
It is the act of a child
to deny the lineage we are given.
Purple is the cloth
I was made to live in.
I pruned all the kudzu,
determined to find my throne,
polished the coronet
whispered "we're far from over yet"
until it gleamed.
Now when I glimpse my reflection
I finally see
a Queen