Kettle

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she sees her lying in a
field of wildflowers
adrift in sweet williams,
asters and pinks
cradled in queen anne’s lace

her hair once the color
of taffy now streaked
gold by the sun
her freckles blending
into honey on her face

she closes her eyes to
drift along with her
feeling the breeze a
silk scarf unfurled
ever so soft as satin

until she hears as
from a distance far
a soft whistle blowing
faintly she nearly feels
an approaching train

but as she opens her
eyes the girl with the
taffy colored hair and
honeyed skin slips
away leaving her

in a small cold room
the whistle from the
tea kettle blowing
louder…steam rising
in the still dank air

she is brought ’round
her eyes glance about at
paint cracked walls to
a chipped tile counter
a clock chiming the hour

as she blinks back hot
salty tears to pull her
ragged sweater about her
she touches a dirty vase
holding a bit of wildflowers

This is for dVerse Poets Pub http://dversepoets.com/category/openlinknight/

Altered Goggle Image

he rings the bell while
she sits and smiles
in her wheelchair

i drop the coins
into the kettle to
test my giving mettle

he rings the bell while
she sits and smiles
in her wheelchair

I normally do not give change this time of year to the Salvation Army as there are kettles and bell ringers in front of every store but on a cold rainy day a woman in a wheelchair, bundled and with a stocking cap on, caught my eye. She was in earnest about someone, anyone giving money to drop with a clanking noise at the bottom of the kettle. Everyone, including myself, hurried into the store to get out of the rain and although she was under a bit of store awning she wasn’t the least bit concerned about the weather. On the way out I broke my habit of not putting change in the kettle and this time did. She smiled and gave me a “Merry Christmas!” and what could be better than that.