i think it was June,

maybe July?


there were fireworks kiosks

popping up like daisies

in empty lots.


I could see them clearly 

from our window.


beyond them

the bay lay open,

her innards

spilled milky white

bobbing passively

as if the breeze

could speak

and she spoke ocean.


I always focused on the inlet.



the walls were butter yellow.

you picked the color

even though

i told you,

matter of factly,

it didn’t suit me.


you laughed

and said

well that’s unusual,

for someone

with such a sunny disposition.


i miss them now,

much to my chagrin.


I suppose you can have

this one

oblivious victory.


– sc

35 thoughts on “butter

  1. This is like a Vermeer or a Van Goch in capturing a moment that is so vividly reflected through very nicely chosen words. You want to stand or sit and contemplate the image. I also like the use of conversation. I can smell the butter paint.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Sheila, I just love your words. Mmmm. Thank you for sharing them so generously. : )
    I hope you’ll stop by my blog soon and see my video performance…”The Performers, The Performance”.
    The title of this piece of yours, Butter, the talk about painting the room yellow, and so many more aspects of this poem are amazing to me. Another reblogging about to happen. : )

    Liked by 1 person

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