Micropoetry Monday: For Labor Day

Labor Days

She felt that waiting tables was beneath her,
that working behind a register did not
utilize her learned skills and innate talents,
never knowing that the smiley face she drew
in whipped cream on a child’s chocolate chip pancake
or the few extra cherries she put in their Shirley Temple Tantrum
made their day,
or that it was her cashiering job
that ultimately paid for those little extras
that made her day.

Micropoetry Monday: Reconstruction

He wouldn’t have loved her whole,
but when he became half a man,
he loved her wholly.

She was 30 when she began her ministry—
of life after miscarriage & divorce with
18 undocumented years “about her mother’s business”—
finding herself resurrected
through her student disciples.

She bicycled, upcycled, & recycled,
burning calories,
not waste.
Her collar had faded from blue to white,
only to deepen into green.
She planted herself where she would grow the most–
an environment where she could be her most creative.
And with every ripening
& every reaping,
there would not be an uprooting,
but a replanting,
for she would leave a seed in her place–
ready to help the next person grow
in that place.

The house was smaller than she remembered,
shabbier over time,
& she sought to bring it back from the grave
with her feelings that were as true as
her false memories.

An accident had taken her beauty,
& she learned to use her brain
to get it back.