06-23-2016, 03:06 AM
Directing the Happy Times
Think April, late, when all things tilt, quiver
with color and rain. Begin, hibiscus, drip
like a woman in wet clothes. With deeper curve,
magnolia, you ache and brown. Last drop,
knock down the honeybee; on three, it bobs,
a cork in the water, that's its time to shine.
Wisteria, study the air where it throbs.
Be amethyst. Focus. I'll need the vine
to fully engage the tree, lilies to white
one by one as Mother walks the lane.
It must be this precise, or, simply put,
she'll get distracted, fail to read her line;
she will not laugh, the waiting stagehands' cue.
Lights down. Enter the shadows who carry you.
-- Chloe Honum
Think April, late, when all things tilt, quiver
with color and rain. Begin, hibiscus, drip
like a woman in wet clothes. With deeper curve,
magnolia, you ache and brown. Last drop,
knock down the honeybee; on three, it bobs,
a cork in the water, that's its time to shine.
Wisteria, study the air where it throbs.
Be amethyst. Focus. I'll need the vine
to fully engage the tree, lilies to white
one by one as Mother walks the lane.
It must be this precise, or, simply put,
she'll get distracted, fail to read her line;
she will not laugh, the waiting stagehands' cue.
Lights down. Enter the shadows who carry you.
-- Chloe Honum