Ah, Blue!
It’s the 15th day of National Poetry Month and also you know what. I started to write my daily draft poem about an idle tax day comment overheard at a Florida Starbucks, but then ended up working on a completely different draft poem, something a little closer to home.
Communion
What a gift it is to sit
with someone you love and not hear
about the body/blood, given/shed,
for your or anyone’s salvation,
redemption,
success/despair,
education, regeneration
in remembrance of.
What sweetness not to discuss
any house in any location,
great aunt or uncle,
small town or large,
teacher or outfit (with
or without peter pan collar,
ruffed cuff),
income or IQ;
patience so much more elusive than gratitude,
love task-like in its minutiae,
the sullenness of childhood a sharp stone
on memory lane.
Ah, the communion of the trivial shared right now,
the small square tile that bears a silent “e”,
the ace on the card table,
the deliciousness of breeze or scone.
I sit with my parents and paint.
Those who do not paint often
focus intently on
a carefully drawn petal or jagged blotch of sea.
Ah, blue; ah, green; ah, yellow.
ManicDDaily 
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