Young Love

This is after all, a love story
The dumbest people on the planet
Are 20-somethings in love
God bless them

Suck the marrow out of that
Because as the pain comes
And the disappointment comes
We grow to become

Ashamed of our longings
Afraid to express what it is
We really hope for from one another
You get to be free

Young and beautiful for now
You get to not worry
If your body will fail you
In the midst of passion

You don’t have the needs or the wants
The dreams of your little child
To worry about as you run long and hard
Headlong into your own

Go, be, live it.
There are decades of being practical ahead
Be precisely impractical
While you can

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, March 2016

Closure

Summer promises so much
Closure, an end to many things
That churned, burned, dragged by
Some will soar away, some will sink
Oncoming grief, outgoing grief
Change again

Live for the day again and again
Find some tenderness
In the midst of it all
Ride into endless summer
To the coast, to a life saved, renewed
Settle with some age behind you

Artifacts passed along or back
To ones who had lost everything
Be the intervention
The Dutch boy’s finger in the dyke
The lighthouse bearing the crush of high seas
Love, let go

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, April 2017

Summer Wind

Early summer
Not too hot
Strong breeze
From the south
Crosses the wide river

Through the trees
Into the window
Billowing curtains
Dancing shadows
Beige pill carpet

Wind on water
Wind swept leaves
Shimmering cacophony
Natural windchimes
Rush

Liquid against liquid
Liquid against life
Life must bend
Or break and snap
Against the invisible

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, February 2017

Corner Café

I

It was a small, tickling idea in the back of her mind. It was a dream so close to her heart she never noticed it clinging there. It just moved with her through the day, through the years of working in various restaurants. She’d put in her time until she could no longer stand the management, then move on to another place. She was making money. She was trading a service, relaxation to others for their dollars, a paid ‘mother’ to businessmen or first dates or families with a bunch of kids needing a break.


II

The green leatherette booths that lined the café had thousands of people occupy them over the years, thousands of conversations about misinformed current affairs, what homework was due tomorrow, which bitch he was fucking now. Thousands of people from every station of life. Donny Osmond ate here once, a little reflected glory, a story, something to talk about when the conversation about the weather was exhausted and the people didn’t enjoy enough of the same television programs to share their exasperation over the most recent plot developments.


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