Once again, I have a response to Linda Kruschke’s paint-chip poetry, at the last minute. This is about how, this year, I had a bunch of plans and it’s all down the drain now. 🙂 I am also sharing this with MLMM’s Tale Weaver, because any attempt to plan this year has become an epic fail. Without furthr ado, these are our paint-chips:
January 2020: the year was a
Blank canvas of optimistic possibility,
A green flash to signal, “Go for it.”
March 2020: a rainstorm was brewing,
We began to become tongue-tied,
Under the sea of shocking surprises.
September 2020: somehow we have
Tumbleweeded through a surreal summer,
Crispy leaves and autumn colors are coming.
I am a glass of fresh-squeezed
Orange juice, filled with the pulp
Of pressurized emotions, in my skin.