One More, Many More

I realized I stopped writing poems about you

and your death

and what it did to our family. 

Was the distance making grief easier,

or just making me forget faster?

I can't believe I stopped,

spaces between thoughts grew greater and sometimes so did guilt. 

I was going to change things

to make it up,

I just wasn't sure when. 

6/19/16

Riley Welch 

Whoops

And it glowed, lit up the sky.
I knew the answer.
It didn't feel like sand in my fingertips this time.
The fear of falling lessened,
only slightly.
But surely, it did.
Much more afraid to drop it,
but knowing that,
if I did.
I would be alright.

6/18/2016
Riley Welch

6.17

Trying to
write more more more.
Remember last summer?
I wrote
so, so, so
much.
Someday I predict I will again.
One a day,
or three a week,
Keep it up, up, up.
Oh the privilege of thinking only one thought at a time.

6/17/2016
Riley Welch

Ms. Smith

One foot carried over the other
and her shoulder tinged a gentle red from the sun.
A breeze blew hair into her face and she shook her head
-chin to collarbone-
a few times, until it straightened itself out.

6/16/2016
Riley Welch

Circled

Rounded soft curls,
piled on her crown.
She wrapped them like a promise.
Heels clinked on stairs,
step, step, step.
We always heard her coming.

Nails glossy and strong
rapping them on the table.
As an act of impatience or routine,
we could not tell.
She walked like a mystery,
in that we knew little of her,
except how she moved.

Like the way her wrist flicked the key in the door
and how she threw her purse to her shoulder as
she turned to leave.

We saw her glance to her watch
as she stepped on her bus
and waited for the next day to
to see her leave again.

6/17/2016
Riley Welch

Creek

I feel as if we don't spend enough time being grateful.
For loving.
For looking up through green shaded leaves,
sun barely peeking.
For breezes igniting goosebumps down our stomachs in sweltering heat
and twisting armed branches
that mimic dancing bodies.

6/14/2016
Riley Welch

The Red (Root) Collection

You know the drill - I title each notebook I use according to the color of the color and binding, this one was red and covered in root vegetables. 

This is the poem dedicated to my time with this notebook. 

I feel like I'm learning.
Like the lessons of being surrounded by writers
are greater than my 45,000 dollar,
4 year
education.

Should I feel guilty about that?
Maybe.
Maybe not.
It shows commitment at least.

I fill up books a bit slower now.
And spend more time on edits.
Reading
and
re-
reading.
I haven't figured out how to become perfect yet,
but I have doubts I ever will.
And at the very least,
I am becoming
more
and
more

content with that.

6/14/2016
Riley Welch