Goodreads
del.icio.us
not everyone can claim to have
rescued a baby dragon whose
water logged scales gradually
became too heavy to carry.
but this he does,
and I neither question
nor expect an offered explanation.
He rescues baby dragons.
Yes, he must,
who else would?
Excuse me
can you hear me clearly?
You didn't mean that did you.
promising forever, casual as a kiss.
Time, like watercolor is very unforgiving.
I paint blue squares on each corner
to keep it from creeping off the paper.
Excuse me,
can you tell me the way to the farmer's market
for morning has broken, again--
broken and seeping from it's shell.
Look! There! Did you see her?
With frail shoulders wrapped in an embroidered shawl
probably made by small hands in
Bangladesh or Guatemala,
some place she has never been.
She looks like an artist,
but she smells like a clone.
Do you know the one I speak of?
Do you know her?
And the children come running for home--
I remember the best tag players
knew exactly how fast to run
to risk getting caught
without actually
getting caught.
I turn to look for you
see only a hand carved six string
now silent as the artist's brush reinvents
the sun with eleven strokes of yellow.
The clone pauses to witness creation.
Did I tell you--
I still paint inside the blue boxes,
but only on odd numbered days.
With degrees and a former career in science and education, Jennifer VanBuren spent many years as a closet poet. Over the past two years she has been fortunate to have found many good homes on-line and in print for her work. When not writing and studying poetry and digital photography, she runs the online literary and art journal, mannequin envy and enjoys throwing rocks into the rivers of Maryland with her two sons. You can find links and samples of her poetry and photographs at the site she keeps for the editors of mannequin envy quarterly.