Two Baby Girls

She dances while I sleep

And hiccups while I binge watch Netflix

She’s a part of me

One with me

Her sister is my closest friend and family.

She lights up my life with her smile

and makes me feel at home with her presence

Two baby girls to hug and love

to sing and dance with on the kitchen floor

I’m so proud

I’m so proud

-Saschia

A Distant Symphony

There’s this tiny space inside me. It has a tiny door with a button handle. A button you’d sew on a shirt. It was a fancy gold one. Round and shiny. I could hear music playing from the other side so I got on all fours and placed my ear right up against it. The music didn’t grow louder it stayed as distant but I could see flickers of light dancing just below the door. Then the smell of cookies and gasoline and cupcakes and charcoal intertwined in my nostrils. It was conflicting but curious. There was only one way to solve this. I had to turn the gold button knob and open the door to that tiny place inside me.

It’s speaking to me

Mid sleep checklist incomplete

Dreaming of writing this

While skating and collecting snowflakes in my pocket

I’m with my old boss looking for the next word

It’s underneath the ice and as long as we keep moving

they’ll appear

Slowly we place each word one after the other

What we build here makes complete sense

Door hinges break without salt so we sprinkle liberally

And we have to crack the window so my mom can hear her alarm

It’s in the next house along with my mom

The moons out it’s big and the night sky makes me weak

So I sit on the porch watching it glisten hoping that in some way

it’s speaking to me.

Symbols

 

She asks for symbols

while doodling stars and hearts

in blue ink

across the top of a blank page

Maybe I don’t get it, Professor

Maybe I never will

She’s on to circles and squares

then sees images of old Egyptian pillars

And creates her own hieroglyphs

with no meaning

(to her)

“To evoke the imagination.”

She voices before putting her head back down

Simi circles and unfinished squares

That are dotted like a morse code

But they have been placed

With no meaning

Dotted with intent

But no definition

Somehow she still feels the depth

Of each meaningless symbol 

 

-Saschia Johnson

 

 

 

Yesterday I blogged about Jan Van Eyck

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