Ribbons and Bows--A chord she's once known.

The chords of the past
strummed on her guitar.
Dancing, laughing, crying...
 the very start.

 The faded jeans 
worn material of which
memories and emotions embedded
quietly in each stitch. 

The falling apart novel
that lies open...
page 46 on her desk.
The pages sighs softly
happy for once to be at rest.


The brown leather of suitcase
now propped up with her hand
the worn blue jeans
packed in and crammed.

The crisply folded 
yet browned plane ticket
lies heavy in her pocket,
 a life lost within it.

Now those baby blue curtains
that she has grown to hate and love
pulled gracefully down 
with a simple tug...

And now as she sits
watching her childhood come to an end

she pulls that same old guitar
from underneath her bed.


4 A.M. and a Fairytale.

my little fairytale
entertains itself in me

it dances lightly and lingers
staying for a while
and then departing.

as daybreak enters
my little fairytale
seems to have 
come back.

it has fallen asleep
and yet has grown.
elaborated and enchanted itself
in my presence. 

twelve hours--
and my little fairytale has returned.
the soft wings of a tomorrow
hope for the otherwise unsure.