I WALK IN DREAMS OF LAVENDER

I walk…. in dreams of lavender
Picnic basket in my hand
Remember? I placed the blanket down
Just the way we planned.

With bouquets of purple flowers
Fruits alight on plates of gold
Eagerly, I sat awaiting you
And what the future holds.

Out of shadow into sunlight
On your white horse, running fast
“I’m here” I waved excitedly 
As you rode swiftly past.

I poured my wine, alone I dined
Purple flowers in their vase
Walking there in dreams of lavender
Out of sync with time and space.

Eclipsed by you

 Old friend, it is odd to find you here.                                                                                      Underneath layer upon layer,….. upon year.                                                                                Amidst accumulative strata of tears and fear.                                                                                  Old friend, it is odd to find you here.

Odd you would rise in this annular sky
While a darkened moon closed a solar eye.
To blaze in a corona of flaming sphere
Old friend, it is odd to find you here.

But indeed there you stand - midst canyon and air
In a clandestine appointment made sometime, somewhere
Above the Colorado River, earthen colors touch sky 
Old friend, odd it is you, that appears in my eye.

Modern

 

“Modern?”...STOP....”I must define.”

But first I smile and take my wine.

 

I lift my glass to faces past

to their laughter and love

Once spread....now dead.

 

I swallow the warmth

And ponder the thought

Of all the change that time has wrought.

 

When held to the light

Ruby red in the night

My wine glass seems ever constant.

 

Dining alone, I check my phone

The girl with pink hair

Takes a seat in her chair

 

I sip my wine and remember a time

I was hardwired to a wall

If I needed to call

 

“How’s my wine?” I am asked

My introspection unmasked.

I watch it fill to the top.

 

With my card I pay

To my car I say

“Directions back to 1975”

 

With a push button start

I still hold in my heart

All I yearn...and it’s not all so modern.

 

 

Pam Robinson Porterfield. 14 Nov. 2020