Friday, March 14, 2014

After decades of walking through life’s gardens,
discovering the intoxicating textures and colors
driving leisurely on roads newly-discovered,
sharing our lives,
I never want to lose the taste of it--
of intense new flavors,
like being served exotic food
by someone who can’t help but
love you
on a warm, spring day.

The quiet one
who can't
have fun,
she sits
in the corner
like Little Jack Horner--
like the three little kittens--
there is no pie

His eyes sparkle
like new snow on a moon-lit night,
fiery jewels in a now-weathered face.
His warm complex smile draws me in,
well-mixed as it is with a sadness
indistinguishable from the laughter
as much as sweet cream is indistinguishable
from the bitter coffee it flavors.

Poems © Gemma W. Wilson