movementandmemories

I am saving up for that notebook— The one with the picture of a girl with blue hair and flowers on it, down at the print shop. I don’t know how much She costs, or how many milk teas I’ll have to sacrifice to have enough— They’re so full of sugar anyway. I want to tell the blue-haired flower girl my secrets, And no one else.

The Christmas choir hold softened, somber faces In their white blouses, all aligned like straightened teeth But there’s a gap in the smile— Our perfect joy made somehow incomplete. Harmonies in the air paint over the discord of grief. Candles work their incense over the bitterness of death, Weeping in our stead. They take on sorrow, melting the years away Leaving only blessed memories. My dear, you carry her.  She rides on the wings of your voice. I saw her smile at you.  She was singing too.

A golden soul drowns in bitterness, A sinking chest in the heart of the sea. She glitters down effervescent To repose on the ocean’s knee. But comfort may be found on the floor, Sweet respite in the warmest cave. She finds herself rocked by a murmur, The cordial cadence of encasing waves.

Blue or green eyes?  Green or blue? Skyward, seaward?  How they grew— Blooming under heaven’s height, Or yearning for a salty flight? The turning sea with stirring breadth Shows its dark and mournful depths When, time or two, your soul did break Like a crashing wave, and soak your face The same soul, other days, could fly Reflecting boundless, breadthless sky Soaring with the Spirit’s love Two shining spheres, one gliding dove. Green or blue eyes?  Blue or green? In rapture I’ve sublimely seen Your eyes alight with heaven’s hue: The peaceful and transcendent blue. And even in the tempest’s mist Through verd

Lukewarm Diet Coke and floors that thump too loud The slow old burn of smoke in a shoulder-bumping crowd. Sweet smiles pushed up intimate circle, knees crossed Fetching Styrofoam cups for friends, pizza served too hot. Loose and sweaty embraces stories told too loud the third time. Spiraling dread of a lapsing silence, eyes darting fleetly.  "need a ride?" Soul filled to the cusp. The smiles were sincere. I'll always remember how we laughed-- how laughter sounds so innocently clear. My going out depends on whether I'm already spent-- I like to miss out, but I'm always glad I went.

When the moon cracked the window, I was already there weaving the tangles from your sand-soaked hair. Stars spun their limbs in wide spiral webs, threads pulling pearls down green stone stairs, splashing in the lap of the shore. When the twelfth bell yawned, and the lightning struck ten, The thirsty sea gulped, flowing empty into brimming pools— hollows we left behind. A passing peace gathered, puddling in my palms; grace rained from the furrowed storm. In the thickening dawn, I floated back, following the scent of the garden.

"Don't you think you're taking this a bit too far?" The corner of Will's mouth curves into a contemptuous smirk. "No, doc, I don't," he says. "See? He just won't stop!" Nina's face is flushed and sickly from sleepless nights and crying. She's a pitiful image—wasted, tired, desperate. And Will laughs at her, unable to control himself. Dr. Willoughby looks down at the piece of scratch notebook paper before him, once again observing the gruesome image of the mutilated infant doodled upon it with the words "mommy no love me" scrawled across the top. He leans back against his cushioned chair, removing his glasses and touching his thumb an