Birdbrain
morning hangs heavy
saturated
warm;
my preoccupations
palpable
even to the
tiny creatures
of the suburban
understory,
what with their
fluttering
scurrying
pecking Continue reading Birdbrain
Category: Poetry
Dissolved
you are
an unlikely molecule
just two gases sharing a secret
covalent alter-ego Continue reading Dissolved
To all the Mamas (a toast)
Here’s to the mamas
who sniffed the necks of their newborn babies and those who
could finally stop pacing when the adoption papers came through. Continue reading To all the Mamas (a toast)
Flight
Actually they were just
bits of
cardboard boxes
decorated with
every color of old paint we could
find. Continue reading Flight
Drip
rain always seems to refuse its containers:
gutters, barrels ,swales, riverbanks Continue reading Drip
Dandelion Clocks (a haiku)
Just a field of weeds? Or maybe it’s a million chances for wonder. ©Vixen Lea 2020 Continue reading Dandelion Clocks (a haiku)
My bangs
When I was fourteen
I begged my mom to let me cut layered bangs
in a thick patch halfway across the top of my head
The goal was to curl, tease, spray, and shellac
these bangs
to a gravity-defying puffed-out masterpiece
bearing striking similarities to a mouse nest atop my head Continue reading My bangs
Cocoon the People
as the churning cacophony
of humanity
suspends, floats
and settles
each anxious human face
tucks neatly in its house Continue reading Cocoon the People
On wearing the Mom Suit
The juxtaposition of being a fragile human and a strong parent has never been more intense than this moment, during these times of global anxiety and local restraint. My children are young enough that they deserve to reside in the soft web of innocence a little longer. As parents, we are the weavers of this ethereal web, our sleight of hand holding the chaos at bay. These fibers become more tenuous each year, as our children’s arms and legs grow longer and their eyes begin to see farther into the truths of the world. Continue reading On wearing the Mom Suit
The Fly and I
I feel like I’m waiting
stalled out
My wheels stuck in mud.
Waiting to move again
to breathe out
to reach out
to unclench. Continue reading The Fly and I
