“I am,”
she said
with sly smile
& wink,
“quite literally
living in the
(yellow-white-violet)
pink…”
— C.Birde, 4/2
Evicted.
Expelled.
Dispossessed
of that old house
on the hill.
Three stories
of tilting timeworn
clapboard
& peeling paint
flaking over tired
green grass.
Seize it. Take it.
And welcome.
It matters not at all.
For in the moonless
night-spangled
dark,
I moved (removed),
like guileless wind,
all small & coveted
prized possessions –
a whole life’s worth
of work & soul
& pulsing wounded
heart –
to the small brown
bungalow nested
oh-so-sweetly
in the valley
below.
— C.Birde, 4/21