It Only Means - by Lidia Laidlaw pen name ~Sophia~
I’ve been to the cloud forest where wind trees
wink silver and pale magnolias dissolve
loose petals on a white capped sea.
Where I stepped out of a beach towel and
thirty nine notes of Chopin’s raindrops hit the shore
I put my right foot in - I put my right foot out
but, I’m afraid of the arm’s length centipede
behind the dresser. Wiki says it lays eggs.
Now I can’t sleep -
hard - like the sleep in a vial of Dengue
take two, dream a fever
hot as the vapor that draws June bugs
bigger than June tapping at the window
of an electric city that’s disconnected the phone
I - jerked off the last tube of paint till
it came on the wall. A graphic frustration
moving - away
from street dogs with hollow legs and mouth sores
from the broken prayers of invisible children
on tanning beds at the new funeral spa ~
“24 Hours Open for Grieving” a Spanglish mutation
of firefly wings pricked by rusted pins
until, there’s only jet lag -
a carrier and enough space in two suitcases
for the music that makes me cry. The scent of
something caught on the night the hurricanes came,
the first easy breath at a castle on a hill and
the last time I remember kissing.
Still, none of it means anything.
It only means I’m leaving.
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And I enjoyed the trip.
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