What if the sky is a sheet of reflective paper.

Maybe we’re a millisecond in time.
Our sky, a reflective sheet of paper without lines.
The universe,
the inside of a globe shaped toy,
a Kinder egg,
and we are the plastic joy.
Or perhaps our burning sun is the flicker of a match,
a moments flame with no fire to catch.
The moon, a child’s favoured sphere,
the white marble they promised to always keep near.
What if we are stuck in darkness beneath a child’s bed
among the glittered flakes of skin of a far off species that we can not even begin to comprehend.
Maybe a caterpillar collection gone wrong
an over run creation, futuristic Darwin, but blonde,
he is the species and we are the insects,
falling rain the tears this little thing wept
Or worse,
the urine that seeps through the mattress.
Maybe our trees are stray blades of grass
and we are the fairies, the dying last.
Trapped in a jar of suspended belief,
and our planet Terra is simply a leaf.

Karen Hayward ©2016

Sweet Tea.

Sweet tea, the honey nectar of comfort.

Tiny grains of sweetness bleached beyond

recognition taste like unconditional love

against my taste buds. Thick heavy sweetened

milk turned golden brown by processed

leaves held together with mesh and draw string.

The teabag sits solemnly at the bottom of a

china cup, china to keep the tea warmer. White

grains of love sit waiting to drown, to melt,

to transform. Then wait. Patience as the

flavor devours the tasteless water.

Then the milk, enough to create

a shade that reminds me of passion,

enough to cool the water.

Sweet tea, unconditional love in a cup.

Karen Hayward (copyright 2015)