Green River Girls
For Two Of My Favourite Friends
This is a poem for a friend of mine and her daughter. I see them every day and they always make me happy.
We must obviously include Creedence Clearwater Revivalโs โGreen Riverโ.
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Every Day I See Their Smiles
Happiness With Them All The While
Reading Tolkien, So Cool Awhirl
Yes They Are The Green River Girls
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Lord of The Rings The Hobbit Too
Snuggling Together, Me And You
Autumn, Mom And The Cat As Well
Yes They Are The Green River Girls
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For Each Other So Full Of Pride
Mom And Autumn Are Side By Side
So Much Love In These Two Ladies
With Hugs For Each Other, Hey Yah
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The Pride Flag These Girls Will Unfurl
Yes They Are The Green River Girls
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More stories from Mike Singleton ๐ Mikeydred and writers in Poets and other communities.
Foot Bindings
I asked my grandmother how she knew she'd fallen in love. I am not sure I ever did love him, she said. This was before I met my husband. I was naive, a naked spring, a raw nerve of a thing. That cannot ever be me, I knew. Sadness swept in gently like a Moscow thaw. It is no simple thing, looking into a woman's vast soul and seeing its foot bindings. Now, in Italy divorced with my skin singed off, when I say I don't love him mean: I have succeeded at feeling nothing most days and it mostly works. Do you want the comfort of Nothing? Do you want Nothing, too? Be warned: you'll never be free, even when you are nothing. Here is what doesn't work: Accepting the stages of grief. Talking about it. Sitting with the feeling. Missing himโno, the person you were when you believed in death do us part. Writing poetry. That, too. When I say I don't love him I mean: I feel capsized in an endless, starved tide. What sometimes works: selective memory. You must forget ripe tomatoes and his beard and feeling perfectly sheltered in a big blue world. Forget coffee in bed, laughter watching TV, blowing out the candles on the birthday cake and the quiet all-encompassing knowledge that you are chosen. Remember only how love turned to a banal everyday survival act, a trapeze act unsure whether he will catch you, how the warmth stagnated and became sour, remember the foot bindings and remember the resentment boiling in your veins as you stick it out for the kids. Six-hour Netflix binges help, too. A man's fingers tracing your spine. Frozen pizza at 2 a.m. Random trips to the museum just to stand near things that last a while. The realization that crying wonโt change anything. Seeing that life is just a dream, and refusing to participate in your own suffering. Bite your fist. Walk on eggshells around joy. When I say I don't love him, I mean he didnโt break my heart, he just stopped touching it and it forgot how to beat right.
By Ella Bogdanova2 days ago in Poets
The Lesions of Devotion
Every day I set myself down on the freshly cut lawn and strip myself bare. I take my guitar and finger the frets and pick at the strings, listening for dissonance. My life is dissonance. I twist the tuning pegs until each string sounds bright. Then I kneel, calves pointing behind me, kneecaps facing forward. All exposed to the breeze. I close my eyes and play the melody.
By Paul Stewart4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (5)
Green River Girls. Ah, this made me grin! So lovely
Beautiful picture of these two special ladies. A touching tribute.
this is lovely
This was wonderful!
Fabulous!!!๐๐