It’s a bright, bright, bright new sunshiny day


Today, I’m sun ripened, Moscato
wine tasting golden delicious
apple crumble strawberry short
cake pumpkin pie glorious
and all things sugar and spice

maybe more spice than sugar,
maybe more bee-sting than flower,
always more witch than water, woman:
more carbon frame than human
more statue and landmark and lesson
and less son, than person, with my
purse across my shoulder, should her
smile in my reflection startle others
as much as it startles me?

No, perfect isn’t the point
and I’m incapable of self indulgence
in the usual ways, like ice cream, and
alcohol, and cigarettes, and a hand tracing
lines along my spine, or selfies, but I
like
this idea
of (self)
control.

No, perfection isn’t the point,
but I’ve gone so long aiming for that
I forgot what else there is to aim for:

endless blue cloudless skies above
and all that’s missing is maybe –
no nothing. *NOTHING!* Nothing for a day
is lost. Nothing for a day
is not perfect. (No, perfection isn’t the point,
isn’t the centre, isn’t gravity, isn’t people)

Close the book mid-way through
well before the ending – because what if it’s really
really really really really really really
sad?
(When I was young, I always read the ending first,
so that I’d be prepared.)

This is a sort of happy poem
and I’d better end it now, before it runs
away from me, and maybe
this is how I think of people too.
That was nice, take care, and all the best,
I know it’s only midday but it’s nice out, so let’s
leave it at that,  and leave all the rest
and this is perfect shunning myself, probably.
and probably, that’s not the point either.

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One Response to It’s a bright, bright, bright new sunshiny day

  1. Pingback: A Witch Is Born | Kshyama's Attic

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