one of each

One of each.
And a pinch of me. That's all it takes
to scoop and seethe.
The tile is cold and creeps up the goose bumps
from my toes.
And I shake.
One hand over my opposite arm.
Warming with a breath and a shiver and shake of my head.
I'm toe stepping on my dance partner
or slow dancing with my father in the living room to old records.
I'm clumsy
trying to avoid the ice floor.
Goddamn, socks would be nice.
It's a simple craving and a goofy dance.
I stand, without shirt, in the white tile.
It feels like home in here.
A very cold home.

I wish sunshine were in each of these jars.
This morning could be the soft white light,
that kind that settles like ash over my head,
setting my eyes to lazy, I casually lean on a newspaper,
and slowly walk to calm.
Other ones can contain summer hot sun searing through curtains
and swelling sweat down each temple. And if another person is there,
when this jar is opened, you'll sweat on each other and mat hair to the forehead
when your lips talk on top of one another.
And sure, to the right, or in the back of the group,
is that cloud driven swirl of downtrodden.
But the kind of light that fits the mood.
A gray that validates your sad, not creates it.

One of each.
I don't feel like choosing because I could fit my heart into all 3 moods.
So, I let God pick and just hope there is a choice in the group that makes this
floor a little warmer because I don't feel like putting the weight of a shirt on.
I'd rather suffer the chill and wait for the sky to change.

Photo by Sadie Whitehead.  Words by Jordan Lane Shappell.

A little less than everything is a lot more than nothing.

You can scratch an egg until it cracks or leave it to hatch golden like morning waves.
You can baby skin smooth an argument with flowers and wine.
You can watch television commercials.

All are okay.

Words by Dustin Whitehead.  Photo by Stephanie Hawks Peters.

Seeing In

I know you're pretending.
You can not see me.

You roam the sundial.
A midnight monster
beneath the bed,
creeping from the closet,
looking to devour the innocent.

Your stagnant stares
of voided vision
could torture my
fragile rainbow world.

Your empty heart
may shatter  mine,
if you stare too long.

But I can see you.

The split of focus
in your veiled eyes
spins a story of
blinded bondage
to all you ever found beautiful.

The buds of your starving tongue
taste for nourishment and flavor in nothingness.
An attempt to devour your tortured soul's food.

I can see through you.

You followed a path of direct roads
that led you
to nowhere -

Yet you are still on the map of time.
There is a chance.

I wandered aimlessly
with unknowing navigation
that led me
to now-

Yet I followed the charts of direction.
There is purpose.

And I can see between you.
Bent.

Your broken vision
is the fix I crave.
My crystal ball of balance and band aids-
a medicine of  my need-
an elixir of humanity.

I will bring you back to the beautiful.

You will see me.
I can see underneath you.

Photo by Sadie Whitehead.  Words by Sarah Spatz.