The Picture

there was a man
waiting under the eaves
at the bathhouse
when I walked by
his camera slung around his neck
counting on the silvery blue
of the ocean
and the granite shades of low clouds
relenting
to the majesty
of the sun slipping by
when it finishes its arc
and comes out briefly to the west
past the rain
golden with rich goodbyes

Right There, on the Purply-Blue

the plump, round bumble bee
with two yellow racing stripes
sets down on the hyacinth
drunk to a stupor
I suddenly realize
what it is I should
most want to be

L. Lois lives in an urban hermitage where trauma-informed themes flow during walks by the ocean. She is pivoting through her grandmother-era, figuring out why her bevy of adult children don’t have babies, nor time. Her poems have appeared in Progenitor Journal, In Parentheses, Woodland Pattern and Twisted Vine.

Image: Fir0002, GFDL 1.2 http://www.gnu.org/licenses/old-licenses/fdl-1.2.html, via Wikimedia Commons