Skin

I
can
feel
myself
outgrowing
my
old
skin.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

Questions Unanswered

I look for you
in parking lots
with one eye open
and one eye closed,
half hoping to see you
and half hoping I don't.

Would we smile and hug,
no words needed,
a silent understanding,
a quiet relief?
Or, would we
slap each other
with hurtful words,
squeezing out
the pain
that we've housed
these last
six months?

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

I Love Snow

for Julie

I remember
the Christmas
that you and I
mended our friendship.
You wore a
cool, retro
fur coat
and we walked to
the park across
the street from
Debbie's house.
That night we
laughed and sang
about snow
with the Christmas
lights shining
behind us
and the future bright;
ahead of us.

© 2005 Amy E. Hall

Grade School Glories

for Ashley and Lindsay

We did it to
amuse ourselves
during the ride to
my community
softball games.
My little sisters
and I played producers,
creating makeshift
movie stars out of our
afternoon snacks.
We tore our thinly
sliced lunchmeat
into strips and gave
them each a name,
as we cast our own
mini musicals,
starring Miss Piggy,
Mr. Angus and
Mrs. Gobblet.
Somehow the
dancing pieces of
ham, beef and turkey
kept our attention
until we reached the
ball diamond, where
I would trade my
sandwich meat
for a glove.

© 2005 Amy E. Hall

Passing Gas at Ponderosa

My little sisters and I were
eyeing the bountiful buffet
when it happened.
I tucked my head under the
overhead glass to get
closer to the cantaloupe
and grabbed a slice
with the plastic tongs.
Attempting to back up
and place the fruit
on my plate, I
bonked the back of
my noggin on the glass,
dropped the orange
melon on the floor
and cut the cheese,
all in the same instant.
Humiliated in my
preadolescent state,
I tried to slink back
to the table and
join our grandparents
unnoticed, despite
the unexpected
backside blast, as my
baby sister yelped:
"WAS THAT YOU?"

© 2005 Amy E. Hall

Heredity

My sister caught me
laughing out loud
like our father
at church last
Sunday morning
during the pastor's
sermon on the
workings of the
Holy Spirit.
She jabbed me
in the arm,
just like our mom
elbows our dad
during parties,
movies and
church functions,
telling me to: "Shhh!"
with arched eyebrows
and half a smile.

© 2005 Amy E. Hall

Pig in a Blanket

I wonder if you
still sleep with Hunnydew,
the stuffed, green pig that
I bought at the jewelry store
in the mall down the road, or
if he was sacrificed months ago,
a makeshift bull's-eye for the dart
that you threw in anger
as you muttered my name
under your breath.

© 2005 Amy E. Hall

Glitter Girl

for Lindsay

She has magic
in her fingertips
and glitter
on her lips,
creating communities of
catalog clippings and
magazine men
on canvas and foam board
with rubber cement
and the sparkle
in her eyes.
Paper strangers
become neighbors
with the shape of her hands,
as she carefully selects
her sticky society,
giving the two-dimensional
souls the chance
to connect
with us.
They speak
with their eyes,
causing us to pause,
reflect and wonder,
and remind us
that glue
is thicker
than blood.

© 2005 Amy E. Hall

Folks #3

Exes are friends
who become family
who become strangers.

© 2005 Amy E. Hall

Folks #2

Family members are roommates
who become friends
who are strange.

© 2005 Amy E. Hall

Folks #1

Roommates are strangers
who become friends
who become family.

© 2005 Amy E. Hall

(Untitled)

An empty hand
feels strange
to the one that
has made a routine of
gripping soiled
security blankets
and secrets
wrapped up tightly
in boxes that sparkle
on the outside.
It is only when
those things are
recognized for the
fool's gold
that they are,
and released,
that the hand
is free to reach
forward toward
the Dream
of a lifetime.

© 2005 Amy E. Hall

The Boys

I miss
Spike and Wally,
the fish I named when
we brought them home from
the pet store
after the first seven
died.
I held the bag so
tightly
in the car
on the way home,
guarding it as though
those little fellows were
my own reputation.
I remember
greeting them
several times a week,
tapping my index finger
on the outside
of the tank
in our own secret
Morse code.
Fish are fragile,
like friendships.
They never prepare you for
the end,
but decide to
call it a day
during a walk with the dog or
a lazy Sunday afternoon
nap.

© 2005 Amy E. Hall

Sharing Secrets

What good is a secret if you can't share it; a story if you can't tell it? This blog is the vehicle by which I will share my secrets via the poetry that shows up on the doorstep of my muse; the whispers of the Great Creator in my ear. If you like what you hear, pass it on.