How can I capture clouds on a page?
Steady, slow, expanding across my view.
Grey and orange.
White and pale blue.
All at once ominous as well a perfectly peaceful resolution.
How can I capture the lone hawk
gliding above blue jays in branches,
a young cat playing with moths,
black and white and green eyes that focus on me
but for a second
before I choose to play too?
How can I capture the dull thudding pulse
of an old scab
on the heel of my palm
still working to heal the puncture from a glass frame
I kept from breaking,
grasping it without thinking,
as it began to fall,
a quick forceful grasp,
merging it into my hand,
while looking at old photographs
on my parent’s shelves,
carefully placed yet barely ever held up
to be seen and shared,
with a very recent old flame, still flickering,
shoulders pressed lightly together,
handling an old experience
that sparks alive with each new review?
How can I capture the certain hue of purple,
inking the sky at 9pm on Friday night
as I look through the blinds in my room,
while getting ready to go wait
for the bus to take me to work,
like it does most nights,
reliable and steady,
a constant slow traversing from one place to another,
again and again,
but always curious what the sky
will look like through the windows of the bus tonight?
How can I capture the box of ashes
that I’ll look upon before I leave,
of a now long dead cat,
the one I chose as a girl,
after two other cats ran away,
from the litter of my sister’s cat that stayed,
who’s first and last steps I witnessed,
that I took from my parent’s shelves of pictures,
where it was hidden behind the back of a chair,
placed purposefully near the shelves,
and put beside my bed in my room,
even though I no longer miss him?
How can I capture the leaves at the bus stop that I stand beneath,
waiting in the night for my vehicle to take me
to the place that I go, for no true reason,
but that it’s a place I know to go,
and sometimes this bothers me and sometimes it doesn’t,
like gently rocking in an old canoe,
and all that’s required of me to do
is breathe and look up?
How can I capture an old wound on my knee
that’s been there since I was 9 years old,
I believe, or younger, maybe,
after all these years, I don’t know why,
and alive beneath my fingers when I touch it,
reminding me of how I was always curious about it
for a good chunk of time,
back after the time that it happened?
How can I capture the backpack I just recently replaced,
torn in several places,
that used to hold all that I carried with me everyday,
bought several years ago,
while wearing a blue dress,
on a warm day of fully white clouds,
and walking to visit my very recent old flame, then a full blaze,
hoping to make him see what could be lost one day,
which he realized all the more fully as he lifted my dress,
and knelt in front of me, looking up?
How can I capture boxes in the garage, with contents I’ve forgotten,
other than an old self-portrait and the drawing of a candle on a table in the dark,
the table cloth partly falling off, held in place by the candle,
revealing one corner of wood,
before I knew how to blend my penciled in shadows more effectively?
How can I capture the capturing of my grasp
of all of this on this page?
It could just as easily have been left blank.