He says, "Plans are only ruined as they are made."
I say, "We have a week to worry, long enough to rest."
They say, "But it may rain, or something. The wind
Will pick up and catch us having fun."
I say, "So we will reschedule."
They say, "We shouldn't make plans at all."
He says, "Plans are only ruined as they are made."
She says, "The tents are packed and the wind will blow
Them away.
I say, "Let the wind blow, that is the way of nature."
They say, "We'll have blankets, and a fire if it's too cold."
I say, "And darkness to protect us from the animal and the stranger."
My mother comes into the room, tears on her cheeks, she says,
"Nell is dead; there was a gas leak, now they're all gone."
I say, no I think—we think—maybe it's better
That we never make any plans at all.
Reflection
Blue is the ugliest color, mercury
Blue with a hint of delight
And a fusion of circumstances
I have not controlled.
The color of an eye—not a pair, one
Open pupil wide, seeing
Through the angry lines, but
Never hearing, it turns white,
And loses sight, deserving, probably.
I hope that eye never loses
The memory of the things it has seen.
© Garrett Ashley 2011
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Garrett Ashley lives in MS and studies English at The University of Southern Mississippi. His works have appeared or are forthcoming in more than a dozen publications including Brain Harvest, The Bloody Bridge Review, The Smoking Poet, and M Brane SF. Currently he enjoys juggling cats.
Garrett Ashley lives in MS and studies English at The University of Southern Mississippi. His works have appeared or are forthcoming in more than a dozen publications including Brain Harvest, The Bloody Bridge Review, The Smoking Poet, and M Brane SF. Currently he enjoys juggling cats.
