February 2015
I love words and dig poetry slams. I've been writing poetry since I was about 5 years old and my mother tells everyone I was born with a pen in my hand. I am a project manager by profession and reside in Utah with my handsome husband and our two outstanding children. You can read more of my work and follow my poetry adventures here: http://trishhopkinson.com/.
Spicy
You’re my salt shaker baby.
You add flavor and zing to my life
when I’ve had a bitter grapefruit day
or a bland tomato sandwich week.
A little shake as you walk by
or when you greet me on the street
makes my cookie dough rise.
There’s no MSG for me--
like the salt seasons the sea
you dissolve into my soul.
You’re my pepper grinder lover.
You give my stew a little kick
when the world is plain and lacking
or the celery in my bloody mary
just ain’t cuttin’ it Sunday morning.
A little twist to the left
and then back to the right
makes it just spicy enough
to drive away my boredom
and quench my yearning.
You’re my sugar shot darling.
You sweeten up my morning latte
with pleasantness on my tongue,
change the perspective of my day
and lead me out into the sun.
A pump or two into my cup,
maybe caramel or sweet vanilla,
drowns out the noise, slows the pace
gives me the energy and vigor
to enjoy myself.
Though life, I know, is worth living
it’s the taste of your essence
your pizzazz and your zest
that makes this mundane existence
a pleasure to partake in--
tantalizing and delicious.
Afternoon Love-making
A window washer slides from floor to floor.
The squeegee squeaks away streaks
erasing the haze and the spots.
His line of sight stops at the glass,
unaware of what’s contained behind
some blinds enclosed others raised,
rooms dark and unmoving or daylight lit―
the shadows move peripherally like specters.
We don’t notice him until he stops and looks in.
We laugh and don’t bother pulling up the covers.
--originally published by SLCC Community Writing Center in Pieced Into Treetops (a chapbook by Trish Hopkinson). 2013.
You Fit
You comfort me when there’s no place to go,
slip over my head when I’m too sleepy for thought,
and wipe the wet of a tough day from my face
with the softness of your sleeve.
You smell of fresh laundry and adorn my body
like a little black dress, but you fit around me
more carefully and in all the right places―
you’re just like my favorite pajamas.
--originally published by SLCC Community Writing Center in Pieced Into Treetops (a chapbook by Trish Hopkinson). 2013.
Reformation
The curve of your ear drops soft to the lobe,
connects to the line of your neck
and traces your throat to the hollow of collar bone.
The jut of your jaw, whiskered and smooth,
to the supple lips and gentle lift to your sleeping lids
catch my breath as if it were my thoughts
and an ache of longing and grace
lightens the weight of my head and reforms my heart.
--originally published by SLCC Community Writing Center in Pieced Into Treetops (a chapbook by Trish Hopkinson). 2013.
©2014 Trish Hopkinson