Bullseye
You did not miss the mark
The feather-tipped arrow of your release
It did not fail to land
In the right spot, spot on
Perfect imperfection
A bullseyed penetration
Drilling through the target
Seen by eyes of love.
+++++++++++++++++++++++
The Peach
Sitting on the counter
Inviting me
To open up
Summer
rsvp my intent
And begin the ritual
Tradition washes over me with sticky memory
And sweet my taste buds eagerly await
Weigh the choice of
All alone or mixed with cream
Perhaps thrown on a bed of greens
The remembering is the beauty halved
Of the ripe flesh and soft warm skin
I peel back to find the gift and enter in the dance
Peach and I
Our summer can begin
We cannot hurry
Nor can we wait
In blinks and nods and a few short days
September will arrive
And memories of sweet ripe fruit
Will dance alone
Like visions of summers past rolling around in my mind, a dream
Of days in the past
So I must eat a peach
And savor all that is ripe and good
And ready for the picking
These are the days
These are the hours
Of grateful living
Peach and I, I and Peach
Our summer has begun.
+++++++++++++++++++
A Blue Thread
Followed me
Or I followed it
Unknowing
On the way
To Blue Bicycle Books
Everything was shades of blue
Cars behind at red lights
Who knew they made dump trucks
Blue
In front he lead me down Highway 17
And then I crossed the bridge
Under a canopy of blue
With white monstrous clouds waiting to release
Raindrops
And hit the sidewalk like a blue streak
The storefronts presented me with blue
And I wondered if this occurs everday
This theme of beauty
Threads through a day
Some days it is red and others gold
And greens of summer, water’s aqua too
If I would look in front behind and closer
At this one life
That like the two young men on the news
Not yet at the age I am
Could end like that
And have it all just stop
Out of the blue.
elizabeth w. marshall 