Poetry

New Habits

They form over months, subtle and sneaky,

habits we’ve picked up by merging so sweetly.

 

Checking ingredients without a second thought,

carrying a full deck of cards just in case they’re sought.

 

Clothes cleaned and ironed for an overnight stay,

fried eggs swapped for part of the other’s breakfast: a good start to the day.

 

One bathing, one readying the bed,

one solving puzzles, one having just read.

 

Phone calls and messages each day we’re apart,

‘I love you’ said often but not so much that it loses its spark.

Poetry

Little ballerina doll

Toes against the box. Comfort lacking.

Weight on one pointe; gravity sucking me down.

My foot sinks into the floor. Smile. Be light.

High arches circle, support from the side.

I feel safe now, knowing I can lower myself.

Hop away. Run from the box.

Run, but never escape.

The box is attached. It demands to be risen on.

It owns me.

For the swans and fairies I’ve grown up watching,

it’s clear they own their box.

Why can’t I?