GRAN CONES

SAFETY CONES IN MANHATTAN

I was feeling my own sun die away
When I spotted these cones on my walk home the other day.
It’s amazing how color can punch through even the worst of it.
The worst in us.
My childhood was one of taking to puffy paint shirts in neon with purpose.
And we’re drawn to rainbow spitting unicorns for a reason.

A still life comprised of safety ingredients,
It did bedazzle my muddy air and inject some fluorescence
Into my low pitch.
Vibrancy to remind my larger self that it is probably safe.
That my persistent cloud generator of a mind will still lose the battle
At every gap where opacity gets dropped to zero
And I’m able to see what’s right in front of me, finally, without the glaze.
When I can find the majestic content hidden in plain view,
But a moment prior to.

For the one who taught her son to find beauty in the commonplace
And who, together with him, inspired me to,
Well she is on a journey to another place soon…

And with that loss, I hope I’ll be popped back alive
Here and there
By the majesty of a passing set of traffic cones
All the harder.
Because downhearted will be the garment
That will want to wear me around
For a long while.

But so long as there can be found the art of now,
The game of lost always has a found.
That is what she taught me.
So I trust I will not be savoring
The madness and the wild simplicity and the electric
Of those future gaps of dropped opacity,
Of true seeing,
Alone.

She said she’d send me a note from the other side.
I’ll be waiting.
And in the meantime,
I’ll be seeing.
With one eye mine,
And one eye hers.

© 2017. Sherry Mills, Inc.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.