The Forgotten Carousel

Horses trapped beneath chipped paint

Pose like peonies in a garden

Of gold twirled poles

And circus music.

Their glassy eyes roll

Skyward,

Open-mouthed

In porcelain

Honeycomb prayer

Liberation

In the mind of a man wearing

His favorite pinstripe suit,

He carries fortitude in his briefcase

And passes it forward to Iraqi taxi drivers

And kids splashed by puddles

On streets too busy to notice

Their Rastafarian reflection.

A mother sees and sighs a song

Of palm shaded redemption

From her place between two cracks

On dampened market pavement

Just before grabbing the last

Ripe lime from the stand.

Three states down and to the left

A lady in her mother’s wrinkled polka dot dress

Sips patience on the rocks

From her clapboard porch,

Watching thunderheads build

On an orange horizon.

Tuesday: paint kitchen trim.

Wednesday: hang our laundry.

Friday: write my memoir.

Sunday: open the Book

Health

We understand when thunder hangs heavy,

Weighty as the hearts of the starving,

Riding low like the basket

On a young girl’s arm

Deep in the woods without Off!

Or Grandma

Or any one to hear her comment on the ferns,

The squirrels,

The wolf

Safety

Her voice carries around the world and back

To that carousel west across the country

In glittering California.

The captive horses hear and neigh

Within themselves at her words,

At the sight of the Warrior

Bolting across amber hazel skies,

Charging like seasons through their cracked

And fragile minds,

Sweeping their worlds

Of leaves, of worms, of moss

Wisdom

Dawns on a stormy horizon.

Provision

As dollar bills begin to fall

On the carousel’s beach

Littered with beach glass and abandonment.

Thousands of paper crescents float

From the billowing sky, heads facing upward

As if catching one last glance

At the world that exists beyond yet beside

The one we call our own.

Curved like hammocks, moons,

Question marks,

They follow on the coat tails of gratitude

At the horses’ swollen feet.