In the brief tranquil reprieve
just before dust.
You don’t notice how
high the wind is
or the bitter in the cold
The night may carry a
satchel of bramble.
But for now you close
your eyes and listen to
the music of the air.
Focusing on the amber length
of the hour.
Your dormant heart made
melodic like a harp touched
by skilled hands
You realize you deserve more
than shuttering light and
shifting shadows.
You who are besotted with
the fever of a waltz
And moonlit rivers
on the way to sea.
No matter how awkward your
gait, you know grace is
found in a soul that won’t
be nettled and a mind
made beautiful by the swarm
of fireflies.
You, this lady and warrior
who gets by on Southern
charm and the rhythm of
a drum that beats in three-quarter time.
Here. where prim
and proper meets sas and grit.
You who are singularity lovely
but hideous too.
A mess of colors, hungry
You refuse to live a sepia life.
For a moment as you watch
the sun set, you don’t dwell
on failed arithmetic or Dostoevsky
and his sullen things.
Instead, you reflect on the wonder
of aliveness and compose yourself
in a poem, composure found in a view
redefined . You rearrange the disquieting
into a sliver canopy of serenity.
Finding peace in your eccentricity.
-Tosha Michelle
My latest cover-Sign of the Times with a little Human thrown in
Everything I Never Told You 