image borrowed from bing
after a night of songwriting, laughter
and sweet leaf tea
I’d like an old woman
to wrap my tired shoulders
in a shawl of sleepy seaweed.
I’d like the seaweed to wrap
all my Christmas presents this year
in yellow pansies and cedar shingles.
I’d like my shingles to hold fast
through days and nights of snow
and dusty misplaced bedroom slippers.
I’d like my bedroom slippers to be
made from Doc Marten leather that
has danced in Australia at least twice.
I’d like Australia to move a little closer
to Texas, and I suppose with tectonic shifts,
Australia soon will be at my front door knocking.
I want Milo to open my front door
and step robustly inside, leaving his
wet umbrella out on the bottom step.
I want my bottom step to welcome
all peoples from all lands and invite them
in for tea and poached eggs on toast tomorrow.
I want tomorrow to be as awesome as
this moment seems to be for me, here after
midnight still up with the aroma of earlier burgers.
I want my burgers to all be organic,
on softest nine-grain buns, with dashes
and lashes of relish from an old woman’s fridge.
I want an old woman’s fridge to be full
of apples, celery, carrots, and walnuts
and I want her to invite me to lunch daily.
And if she felt so inclined to pop in with Milo,
take up my broom and waltz around
with it until all the dust
was in the old cast iron frying pan,
I wouldn’t mind.
And if the frying pan should marry the vacuum
cleaner to the dishwasher I wouldn’t mind
that either. I’d only mind if I forgot to let Milo
open the door to your heart.
When I was a teen I thought that Pete Townsend song
went ”Let Milo Open The Door.”
Years later I realized the lyric was actually
“Let My Love Open The Door.”
Posted over on her site Jannie Funster