ASHES TO ASHES

By Lisa Huddleston

Where have all the fall flowers gone,

Where are the mounds of oranges and reds,

The musty wet piles that covered our heads,

From which we erupted then remade our beds,

Where are the colors today?

 

I used to say that fall showed us how beautiful dying could be,

But now I fear I’m wrong.

This year the leaves drop without color,

Ashy gray skirts lie around empty trunks,

No beauty to the dying,

Just ashes to ashes and dust to dust.

Where have all the flowers gone?

DIRTY ANKLES AND STREET LIGHTS

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By Lisa Huddleston

When the street lights came on, we were supposed to head home.

And our baths were drawn. And Mr. Bubbles and Mommy were waiting. And our Daddy was shrilly whistling out the front door meaning, “Come home, little girl. It’s time to scrub off the dirt ring that’s gathered around your Keds and thank God for another good day.”

And now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake–I hope Mr. Bubbles is waiting and the scum still soaks off with ease and just a little extra rubbing around the ankles. And I’d love to put on clean seer-sucker baby doll pjs to wear to bed.

Amen.