Heidi Palmer


My Socks Were White Once

My socks were white once, I recall;
when purchased at the local mall
they smelled of linen, clean and sweet,
untouched by human hands or feet.

But I have dragged them through the grime,
the grass, the grit, the sands of time.
And all of their unsightly stains
remind me that the road remains,
and sing of all life has to teach
in spite of those who favor bleach.

Fashion Sense

In fashion stores upon the racks
hang clothes of countless blues and blacks;
it’s tough to match your navy skirt,
your Prussian slacks, your onyx shirt.

All the shades of blacks and blues
can feel like one big fabric bruise,
and one snafu on laundry day
makes ebony look charcoal gray.

Confused by all the blues and blacks?
Wear polka dots and just relax.

Heidi Palmer is a writer, church musician, and retired music theory instructor from southeastern Wisconsin. Her lifelong love of rhythm and rhyme has led her to take deep dives into fluid combinations of music and poetry. In her free time, Heidi enjoys writing songbooks for her grandchildren and taking long walks with her husband Fred and their dog Cooper.