Andi Leigh Writes

I miss the slumber-filled clutch Of the moon, And the sun does not submit To provide what is given freely By the night. Daylit dreams are striking, Placing me confused when I wake to bustling noise. Shouldn't it be quiet? Oh wait, It's 3 p.m. I'm the one misplaced.

We are allowed to be  Secure  With our Loose leaf qualities; They whip in our winds Like a flag we're proud of— And we are, Unafraid of them scattering, Since they'll flutter home When they come to mind And we'll still know Exactly who we're meant To be— Ever-changing, Unbound,  Ready for more.

 Troubled mind, empty is the teacup. A pained split has graced itself In the unwrinkled porcelain; The contents—spilled. While in trouble, nothing is truly lost, Even in a shatter. Let us soak up what was thought To be a waste and regain focus On our invaluable teatime. The crack in our side— An intermission passed.

 Red eyes—they're blinding From a distance, Flooding spots reserved for Lights of night. Shining with unease, not for me, But one day a possibility. Don't think like that— I assure you, Nothing is wrong, But that's what everyone Thinks at first. Cold tires, they drive away— Not a chance they'd make it, Not with a silence like that. Perhaps a chance still floats. I might just be gloomy, Thinking the worst, But the red eyes decline from Typical parking lot lighting And the silence settles the dark. I hope the siren comes to life When the road is reached. That would be a better sign.

The starflower rain Sprinkles me with a calm That I have been missing. I've yet to check My written notes— What needed to be done? I'll find out tomorrow When the calm rolls back Out into the foggy morning. Until then, I'm a stream, Busy like blue lavender— Not in any rush at all.

Sunday laundry, Air from the opened Window to aid. Lemon and Lavender scents— Crumbs swept. Roses seated in a Bear mug—repurposed. Countertops cleared, A meal made but no time For dessert. Peacefulness kissed this Weekend day—I want its Resilience to last. I'll see it all again When next Sunday says Hello. Maybe I'll read.

An ordinary wall may say Nothing at all, Keeping secrets between The paint and brick,  But when stories are Splayed by candlelight, Perspectives change When candor dances  Against the flicker And the wall becomes An unveiled film reel Behind quiet doors.

I wish for a way forward But rocky paths are everywhere And I don't have proper shoes. So all I can do is bear the strain, Use what I have on hand that will Get me by,  And maybe a cool drink of water Will be waiting at the end Of one rocky path That I chose to smooth With my bloodied heels.

When fires are high; Casting shadows, Darkness cannot hide In hers.

Burning pavement, Boiling blood, Sweat-drenched Irritability. Half-broken AC. Ice water now tepid And the roof soaks Up the solar fury. Cold showers come In handy. It's not even summer.

When I sleep, I see us past the hardship. Comfortable and secure, Making bread, enjoying The daylight. No worries About what is due Hanging like ivy that we trim A little at a time. But it keeps growing back. And one day I'll wake up Next to you And that ivy will be gone And our days will be clear.

The day becomes night, And the night lives And breathes A stillness that I may Have been looking for Without knowing. A venture worth noting, Fresh moments to Self-reflect. Maybe I can find my way again; Realigning what matters The most, then Breathing as deeply As the night does.

When dampening the dirt, The roly-polies play. The seeds are sprinkled During this cloudy mid-May. Cilantro, mint, and basil, Chamomile's first time, Sunflowers potted On this stoop of mine.

Pigeons  In a parking garage— I want to know each And every name. They'll never know mine  And they don't care. I'm just another shape That moves in their way. They wait for food scraps But I have none to give. What use am I? They build nests in their  Concrete home; bobbing Their heads when cars Speed by and more boring Shapes emerge, unwilling To pay them any mind. They coo, strutting Carelessly as strangers Disturb the city life They never asked for.

Birthday cake under the clouds— I hope it doesn't rain. Look at you—you layered thing; Unattended on the other side Of the wooden fence. Your candles  Are blown out by the sky— The wish granted to another. Music bows to the evening, And you—poor sugar, Must have been forgotten. And it didn't even rain.

Can I be a pink tree In the forest green? A pop of color In anonymity—a force Of petalled rain, Sharing what little Brightness I can— From a seedling, Wondering where it All began.

I'm met with a long day That won't let go of my hand. I tug, but there's no use When I'm forced to savor Every drop of every Molasses second. I'm waiting for a spill. Tomorrow will be the same And it smiles. I smile back, gritting My teeth. I would like My hand ungrasped. Until then, I'll let the day Hold me but stillness Won't be in my heart.

The perceived echo  Of trouble On parched night winds Shoots ice into my core. Is my fear irrational When the unknown Lurks under The night's watch? A poor animal, Writhing After the red glow From tail lights fade. It happens all the time But perhaps this moment Is my imagination Running wild.

We are lonely  On a web— Waiting for a feast To commence But we're not invited as Esteemed guests— Distress Chokes every pore and  Spins protest— Battered down, we are The pests—the cuisine In a spider's eye, but we Deny—refuse to try, Then a bell signals Mealtime And we comply. 

I taste a pause within. Tense breath— Anticipation, For some impulsive Interrupter. And suspension drifts  But I can't uncage the air Until I am certain The interrupter is Only in my head. But that may be enough To wait and reach For a moment to settle Before my next breath Escapes freely.

Let fungi devour my shell And root me in the ground. Let flora rise from bone— Grow from my humble crown.

Canvas moon; Bubbling like Sheetrock On the dampest of days. Shining like a dime In the pale of night, eager To be plucked as coins are From lint-filled pockets. You recite to me your Lullabies in reflecting pools And chase me as I drive on lamp-lit roads. Canvas moon— You are the one who Takes me home.

There was nothing. And sometimes nothing Is good. Like an empty jar waiting to See what it would hold next. Or the hum of an electric fan, Loving the attention in A room with no music. Or a mug of black coffee, Steaming gently on a Clear countertop. There was nothing. And sometimes nothing Is what I need.

The thunder Stirs insecurities, And showers wash Daylight away—we stay With our obscurities And for the night Embrace the gray.

Branches stretching in the dark, Please soothe my heart. Dance in the open window And steal the stress that rests. I won't sleep until then, I guess. And please find time To paint your leaves—it'll help, I believe.  Make me feel What you feel when the fires burn. I want to learn—to turn Into someone I won't recognize. Like when the seasons roll by, And you are not the same, But you're the one and only Tree.  Please resurrect me And make me see.

Blue petals—the flowers say hello, And they devise a plan to sprout From my arm like a dream I once had. Just once, but now the scene Refuses to escape me—each plant, Shooting from my decorated skin, Roots drawn down—anchored, A part of me more beautiful Than what was originally there. But it was never mine.

A plate left in the sink May not seem like much But I don't have a dishwasher So sometimes it is tough. I watch it soak in water, In the ripples shines the light From the ceiling light above And I wish to say goodnight.

Fever dream whirlpool, Pulling, down Down Down to the depths of a subconscious sea, Where buttons are pressed And colors rupture And nothing makes sense. I don't want to be pulled Down, down, down, I want to be aware—unbroken, Unfettered And as clear as can be.

Our love is a foggy morning, With clovers reaching high. Our hearts are blue jays Hunting earthworms. It may be overcast, But we are kept alive  By the rapture In each other's words.

An evening with Tarot card guided Dreams. A sprinkle of self-care, Planning for the Future, seeing a way Out—past the barrier The past Had set up—mistakes Wandering in To ruin current times, But I Am a mountain. I will reflect—there are Things to be done, More dreams to be Realized.

My imagination doesn't leave, Even when the window is Wide open.  Instead, it chooses to either enrich My life or it keeps me contained. Sometimes it may be a bit Too much, swinging the pendulum Too fast for me to listen to All of the words it says And I'll feel my heart begging For the chance to rest. But when It's there to help me through it all, I appreciate the creativity.