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Poetry Month: PATTERNS

I take you

And place you in a book of verses

For when it is November, its fog

Catching up with the tendrils of my mind

I will come to this poem

And you will fall into my lap

Stiff for being forgotten

Longing to be touched

For the words have dried you up too

I will pick you up with fingers like feathers

And there will be an explosion

Of orange peels, fluorescent

Of cola popsicles, glistening

Of turquoise water, chlorinated

Of yellow curtains, stirring

Of golden wrists, damp, pulsating

Of indigo shirts, crumpled, shed

You'll fall against me

As if your memories were ironed out too

And I will put you back

Knowing this for sure:

You will bloom

A shade shy of crimson

Again, next year



The kindergarten class is learning patterns through rhythm

Clap Pat Clap Pat Clap Pat


Charlie goes a bit rogue

Clapping when he has to pat

And bobbing his head

when he has to clap.

The class catches on. “You are always trouble, Charlie”, the teacher yells.

In the ensuing chaos of not knowing

when to clap and when to pat,

The children discover their teacher has the superpower

Of seeing patterns

Where there isn’t one.





i've spent a lot of hours

trying to connect the dots

on old patterned floors

of middle-class homes

the kind you can't articulate

to another person

unless they had

the exact same vision

i wonder what fun games

kids are playing these days

on clean marble tiles

i just haven't taken the time

to pay attention in a while



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