Odd Creature

stegosaurus

An eccentric young woman

descends polished wooden stairs

in stockings, with light, bouncy steps

full of energy.

 

A vision of distinct individuality,

her presence dares adults to defy mediocre lives.

Disconnect from adolescent bravado

emerges among those present

with each exotic footfall into the room.

Dreams and confidence of childhood

are shown to have settled into a run-of-the-mill existence

as this odd creature breezes in.

 

Porcelain skin is smooth and glowing.

Dark eyes lead to deep pools of creative knowledge

and foreign thought.

Turquoise blue and vibrant purple hair

shines.

Side ponytails curl and twist

with her movements.

A gentle teal ocean kiss to her shoulder on one side,

a violet jolt on the other.

 

A feminine lacy black dress juxtaposes a puffy white rabbit’s tail

peeking out from under

the hem of a black military coat.

With a quick shrug, a stegosaur backpack is over her shoulders.

Pink, orange, brown and yellow spikes

protrude from her back.

 

A surprisingly deep and husky voice reveals an ancient soul

inside a youth’s body.

In one throaty breath she says a quick hello and good-bye,

making no apology for her brevity.

 

An air of mystery is left in her wake.

Thoughts of her unusual tail and unique character

bring a smile

and a moment of wistful longing

for lost youth.

Jack

Sweet stories
written through passage of time
float in the room.
An accordion rendition shared just so
squeezes in and out amongst memorabilia around the dwelling.

A birth tidbit distracts from pain in the moment.
Cherubic cheeks and bright eyes initiate brief anecdotes.
Photos lay in neat rows on the table,
frames polished and bright.
“They’ve taken them from his walls.
This one – she was a fighter. Ugly little thing,
fat head, big nose.”

Jack is gone.

A catch in her voice.
“We thought we’d have so much time together
now that our lives have quieted.”

Bare branches of the lilac hedge are stark,
unadorned with flowers or leaves.
They look brittle and frail
like the wisp of woman before me.
“I planted that from little slips taken from the farm.”
The shrubbery encloses the yard.
A thicket of tangled growth
hiding this slip of a woman from her neighbors.

“Jack and I met before the war.
I was working the switchboards.
He saw me standing by the mess hall kitchen sink
after dinner one evening, hands in soapy water.
‘What’s a guy gotta do to get a smile?’
That’s how we met.”

Jack is gone.

The hands with onion paper skin shake.
Sudsy water flashback hides the lines and blue-green veins
but not the grief.

“He built this house.
Realized quickly he may have taken on more than he could handle
but he saw it through. That’s what you do. You finish what you
start. We had a lot of good times
here in this old house.”

Jack is gone.

Black and white photo of a handsome young man
smiles from his perch on the countertop.
Thick black hair is swept roguishly to one side,
army attire impeccably neat.
His easy chair in the veteran’s home sits empty.
The walls of his room are bare.
A whispered tribute from his family home
sorts through memories.