What's Left

I am a mother in Missouri
Where oceans used to be
Where mountains have slumped over
In their age
In their weariness
I am Minneapolis
I am Portland
I am Chicago
I am New York
Just as the sun rises each day
And sets every evening
My heart beats
My blood runs cold
I long for the comfort of caves
And the serenity of small streams
With every headline a flash of lightning
I ache for torrential rain
The kind that collapses trees
And blocks roadways
The aftermath crafts the path for us
So all that's left is one choice
That leads us to love
That leads us to live

Honeysuckle

Give me a guitar to strum
With a turquoise strap and twelve strings
One that's black and emerald green

I'd walk around with it barefoot 
But shoes are required
How am I supposed to feel inspired

The city lights are dim these days
The pavement is painfully gray
Unsung chords lead me away

I wander the forest and kneel in the moss
Sometimes I find honeysuckle
Sometimes a wasp

It's Raining in December

I remember it used to snow instead,
Covering everything in a white fluffy blanket.
It was cold and exhilarating,
And we didn't have to remember
How green the grass used to be,
Or how bright the blossoms had been.
We threw magic around in the crisp sun
With gloves and laughter and squeals.
Snow buries everything
So you can play,
But we plowed through it,
Rescuing the concrete as fast as we could.
And now when I wake up
In December, it's raining.
And I hear only the howling wind,
And the pelting torrent overhead.