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fingernails, some no bigger than grape seeds
eyebrows not yet visible
your heart opened, he created his own space in you
new stretches, new grasps
nestled, his lungs bring innate breaths and warmth
yours to him as well
~
rosebud lips and a recessed chin
allow for nourishment for which he roots
an aged rocker supports,
supports arms bearing
the fresh and flawless, the perfect
~
the glass of water on the table breaks,
breaks the lamp light into prisms of color
this light and these hues float beyond,
reflect in his eyes for quick moments as they open
searching for those that gaze into him
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his movement is as slow motion segments of a film revealing the gracefulness of stirring,
of action
his neck turns seeking warmth of skin and food
in careful grace, fingers test,
test the air, in a dance now free of the womb’s restraints
he finds new comfort, in this lack of boundary….awe and unfamiliar felt
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lamp light flickers as the rocker shifted, brushed against the table leg
the glass only half full is jostled
for him enough to startle
you swaddle, bundle in cloth of blue polka dots,
tightly this special package of shoulders, arms, belly and legs
easing his transition from dark, safe, to bright and expanding space
~
you tighten your hold
warm love, protection are again known
now from a mother’s arms and cotton threads
known by the infant child
known too by the child only young at heart
fresh and taking root in both
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Her leash is twisted.
I notice from its shadow on hot rocky pavement,
as the sun’s long fingers stretch
languid to the road.
A burn is felt beneath the surface,
of my chest.
With hands
pressing my head weighted,
I feel pressure from my monster
to straighten the dog’s lead
now,
lest I tease the evil once too often.
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Order and symmetry,
symmetry or order,
of two, precedence is taken by which?
Lists,
lists of lists tangled in each other,
I cannot separate.
As my sweating chest releases fear,
I try creating order in this world,
in my world.
The world will be neatly stuffed
into a pillow, perfectly sewn and packaged.
There will exist no loose threads.
No bulging parts, this pillow
where upon I rest my head,
my head which gets no rest.
~
Only as outlines approve
my eyes will see last light from the bedroom lamp
as he reads.
Threads secured, lumps flattened
as there is order and symmetry, or symmetry and order.
Of two words, which takes precedence?
Doubts, afraid I am.
Thinking must continue
as clear lines are slow in being drawn.
I untwist her leash as I turn
home. Not releasing the friend at my side
nor the monster
taking precious space in my head.
The words written above are my small list of big issues, values, I have desired to teach my children. Maybe I haven’t in so many words, but doing so has always been my intent. Within my heart I believe implementing them into our lives daily can only see peoples from all corners lead happier lives. I believe that the majority of people would say they believe the same. Each, including myself, needs to take the added steps and act more upon those words.
~
I felt the desire to write this list rather quickly and haphazardly as I am becoming more disturbed by the growth of the importance of the “me,” the self, I see there is now. There exists too much emphasis on celebrating one’s own life and not celebrating the life of another. Priorities do need to be checked. Values of this population do need to be balanced.
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he fingers the stroller toy, momentarily stifled and semi-bored
his mother’s face stories above, is laughing
with others more interesting
~
she clutches dearly to a package
so as not to lose its contents
the latest read, earrings for dinner tonight
and remains of a half-eaten pretzel
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attention, the fun touch of mother’s fingers
tickling his belly are to wait
a rubber pacifier she stuffs in his mouth after approaching
with a bottle of powder and water
~
her back from the stroller is turned
the pretzel in hand
he sits stifled and semi-bored
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Twenty five years, scrubs blue
Drops of blood on running shoes
Determined movement with shoulders wide
Strength behind glasses, pride
~
Fumes of spent love drift,
as keys turn in their place.
The door locks,
and the black car pulls away,
as does the heart.
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Skin-toned canvas pulls on metal poles.
Latches squeak;
against wind they hold.
Material from heat and sun is shielding,
except where there live holes.
~
Straining, as does the weave of two,
this canvas stretching
this couple too,
amongst palms,
yellow plates and many shoes,
lined along the entry wall.
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The wind to rest, so as to relieve the tension,
relax the canvas.
The wind to slow, not pull the latches.
Given is a chance to catch a breath,
inhale strength and as I do, rest.
~
Prepared for the next storm
are tarp and myself.
Winds stir; latches tighten.
Another ache, my muscles brace.
The black car pulls away,
as does the heart.
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Clock watching, waiting,
I do a good bit of these. This evening,
the wood of my table with carved trim holds one alone,
as it waits for another napkin and place setting.
~
I do hope he is where he claims to be.
~
My crystal wine glass is now empty.
I flag a server as a taxi.
He is attentive, just as he is to be.
Mistakenly I believe it might be for me.
~
I do hope he is where he claims to be.
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Stop the dreaming I should, curb the desire
for his hand on mine, smiling, soft eyes.
To my melting point I do rise.
Lack and loneliness see him in this light.
~
I do hope he is where he claims to be.
~
The door open lends a breeze,
and sends in music from outdoor chimes.
Moves the skirt of my dress seated.
It rustles leaves that whisper to me,
~
I do hope he is where he claims to be.
The look from your eyes into mine
found a flaw and entered, just a part.
Found this flaw and used my weakness
to enter and soil my heart.
Weakened, I am lost.
~
Looking high above, into the sky,
I wonder. Could the wind take me,
lift me as a kite,
to feel the wind beneath,
a wind of stirring light?
~
I ask of this kite,
I a prisoner of soil and green,
“Search for tender lands.”
Search for ground where falls are gradual not steep,
lands which lessen the fall to surprise from peace.
~
My kite soaring through the air whispers,
“I know a place. I will take you there.”
Through a flock of blued wings we were carried through the air.
Tirelessly created currents,
leading to truth, bare.
~
Deeper blue and into the darkness, the kite
moved me to windless floating from flight.
A single star then broke through the dark.
The stirring light I had then caught,
in these eyes.
~
The eyes in which you found my flaw
had brought, to me, the peace I sought.
~
Waking in our bed,
I lifted your ringing phone to find
words that tore apart my mind.
I was left with a heavy head
and eyes I wished were blind.
My heart aches for a new day,
one where games are no longer played.
When pieces move in truth not lies,
shadowed words, not seen with these eyes.
With tears and heavy legs
the floor became my comfort.
Cold wood was the shoulder upon which I laid,
though it felt as though it burned
and low enough I could not fall.
My heart aches for a new day,
one where games are no longer played.
When pieces move in truth not lies,
shadowed words, not seen with these eyes.
~
The plane leaves soon for you, late for me.
I ready the home,
dress in hopeless tears.
Catch a taxi,
float through the air and fears.
~
You’ve kept me in the dark
and pushed me from your heart.
Our connection seems now gone.
Though I am skimming clouds,
I feel farther from the heavens and never more apart.
My heart aches for a new day,
one where games are no longer played.
When pieces move in truth not lies,
shadowed words, not seen with these eyes.
You are seasoned hands guiding young fingers on keys.
You are an explosive work of art,
the stroke of brush on canvas.
You are colors painted with fierce thoughts stirring the settled.
You are an empty shelf soon full, then emptied save one jar.
You are water pouring into cupped hands and the sand displacing it.
You are calloused fingers meeting string, releasing tones that fix the broken.
You are the gaze of protective eyes upon a child at play
and the light in the young one’s eyes.
You are the sound of wind rustled blinds before the storm,
and after,
the sound of their stillness.
You are the scent of newly cut grass
and the musty smell of aging wood inside a time worn home.
You are the heat of the sun felt by blistered feet on tar.
You are coolness when toes are dipped in a shadowed stream.
You are the taste of sweet red wine and the aroma from the empty bottle.
You are the blink of an eye
and the drawn out linger.
You fill the soul and more than mend the heart.
You are the beginning, the end and all found between.
You are a brutal, exhilarating birth.
You are a graceful, frightening death.
You are each emotion and emotions combined.
You are new emotions never before felt.
You are music.
