us four

what does all the stuff mean?
these things i surround myself with,
all the yarn, the paint, the textures.
what about that piano there, and the guitar.
the chairs and sofa, the tables, the armoirs.
we have so many legos and small things
that have no place.
they fill up in bowls and boxes.
i cannot carry all i own.
i cannot count all i have.
i cannot tell all their names.

but i have two children.
only two.
i have one husband.
only one.
and i stand with them, we four.

the yarn makes them warm,
i knit my love right into the mittens and the hats,
more stuff.
the paint transforms blank canvases into windows.
windows to the places i'll never go,
the places i'll send my children to see.
the textures, they bring variety to my world.
one day when i am blind those textures will bring back
all
my
memories.

the piano, one day the boys will learn to play.
it will bring melody into our home.
the guitar collects some dust and collects some songs.
i love to sing, if i could send a testimony to every heart through song
i would...

the chairs, the sofa, the tables,
we live on them, at them.
i can see the little ghosts of my boys jumping and laughing,
falling and being young.
what would be their launchpad without a sofa and chairs?
the table has been scrubbed so many times i'm amazed it's still nice...
and i built it. i'm proud of it.

the legos...they are life's blood to little boys.

the small things.
i can't bring myself to throw them away.
the moment i try i see the little fingers that made it,
the little fingers that held it,
the little fingers that treasured it.
so i find a bowl for it.
there are three such bowls on my kitchen island.
perhaps one day i'll be able to throw them away, but if not that's okay.

my world is full, perhaps too full,
but i'm not going to complain.
and i'm not going to let it go.

us four.
it's my family.
us four.

living outside my body

wherever i go
my life comes with me

yes, even the long dark winter
travels where e'er i go...
at least when it is winter.

but some sorrows are not my own

the small one taking shape
growing ever so quickly.

it isn't mine, so when i lose it
i cannot cry.
my tears betray me.

the child lives on, what's there to cry over...

the child lives on and i'm not the mother.
that sorrow is not mine.

living outside of my body hurts so bad sometimes.

as the day is long

sun drenched cheeks

full of warmth and joy.

 

the long drawn out sigh

that flows from a day of outside.

 

sitting, listening, keeping watch,

until the sun begins to dip.

 

finally they can feel the pulse within,

beating a whisper that tells them

 

close

 

your 

 

eyes

 

close your eyes

let the lashes fall

 

close    your      eyes

breathe once more

let your waking fall

 

close your eyes

close    your           eyes

feel the day 

 

slip down....

learn to read

listening to the words
as they flow from left to right.
the voice, so tiny and full of concern,
realizes its own ability, talent.

the joy in the eyes as he feels himself a hero.
what a wonder to learn to read.

grief is tangible

grief is tangible
nestled between the heart and the ribs
swimming up like so much water
in my ears, in my throat

i'm drowning in the sea
created by my fear, my doubt

if sitting still and breathing unconscious
of the act
were a way out of the maze of pain
i would be free,
for my days are spent
listlessly walking from room to room

what i'm looking for is never found
on the wall
on the floor
suspended in the air

yet i continue to look, almost dumbly
the black cloud hangs not over me, but
all around me.
like dark dust filling my lungs, my eyes.

if i could i would jump to freedom....

if i could.

working through the stuff

putting it all down to paper,
the anonymity creates honesty.

when you're full to overflowing,
the wall comes pushing out.
no dam can hold it in, 
it breaks through
and turns
from thoughts
to words,
from a sense of a thing
to a thing you can almost hold.

and then, as so often is the case,
the sense, the wall, the thought
disappears.

and you wonder what all the fuss was about
in the first place.
 

telling it out

fumbling through the confession

is just what i needed today.

i've been planning to take the time

to get it off my mind

 

of course, it isn't easy,

the feeling that i'm

letting

someone

down,

 

but as i fumble through the lines,

as i tell it from my heart,

the story comes out right.

 

take my little ones to my soul,

to love them completely

without the colors getting in the way.

 

a confession that sets one free

is one worth telling.

such is this.

in time

if there were a place to go
where the sun always shines
this would be it.

the most peaceful moments
rest in my heart when i think of nesting
with my new baby bird.

hot in here

there's the sweltering, prickling,
nagging need to pull my hair up.
but i put it off so long
until i forget the temperature.

i only look up once or twice
realizing the discomfort of being so warm.

yet i sit on and on, waiting for
what i know not.

waiting for something
someone
someplace
somepeace

trying something new

is poetry really what my heart wants to say?
sometimes it's the unspoken, unwritten words that say
the most

as i grow older i lose my focus
and i flounder, flitter, flutter
over here, over there
spinning round like a planet off course

renamed

trying something new

if i could create what i really wanted to
i wouldn't be writing this now.

safe inside

safe inside.
time on my hands.
wondering what's coming
later on today, tomorrow, forever away.
the ever difficult moment
when i know i need to move, but
i can't

a stream of thoughts, blasting
through my mind.

look outside the window to see the patches of light
dappled on the bright green leaves, looking rather yellow.
they're baking out there.
i'm sitting safe inside.

the slow steady breathing

the lovely locks of cloud white hair
brushing against my face.
i close my eyes, he closes his,
his little palm face down on my heart.

his security or mine? whichever it is
the moment's sublime

as his breathing slows and he squirms yet closer
clutching a worn fluffy thing.
closer he comes, edging to the place
where awake and asleep meld as one.

then i drift away, too, till i feel his body drop
like coal against my frame, the little boy is asleep.
his cheek turning red and warm, resting upon my heart
where he can hear its beating and i can hear his breathing.

the slow steady breathing of my little baby boy.

forget the rain

time and time again
the rains, they come.
the cold, wet stuff of heaven
chilling me when i should be warm.

but wrapped up inside these walls
i feel naught of it's bitter lash.
wrapped up inside this wood
like those shoes worn by age-old farmers.

in the earth, a reviving, a living
a coming to existence for all those green things
on their way, shooting forth, making way for spring.

laugh cry

today i woke up unrested.
then, after the scuffling and the opening,
i took on a new energy.
one of hope, youth, creation.

always being a follower, one gets left behind.

please, please, please,
comes the plea from below.
so, stumbling, i lead

onward and upward, outside of myself.
with a light in the sky it's easier to see
the things here below, what were shrouded in grey.
now flooded with yellow, cream colored day

without a plan, the garden turned to soil
in our working hands.
our exhausted breathing turned to rythym.
like i said, without a plan.

then a reel, a jig, a dance from the heart
it came so fast, that feeling of lifting off.
that feeling of moving for no other benefit
than to feel a smile upon our hearts, in our lungs.

the tears flowed fluid
down
down
down

the heart lifted off
up
up
up

oh, never come down again.

fast beat, slow words; a melody

i've had moments like this before. 
hushing my troubled soul, my fretful heart. 

the music i heard made me want to fly. 
something about the sound made me want to lift off my feet. 
it swept me up and carried me awhile, until the sound fell silent. 

then i was left to those old thoughts. 
the ones that steal up on me, reminding me that life is a daily struggle. 
the trains speed by, leaving me alone on the platform. 

so i played the music again and again, 
until i knew i couldn't avoid the silence of my own room, 
lying down upon my own pillow, 
to sleep. 

but perhaps i'll dream of daffydowndillies, 
of the fields and trees in full blow. 

after all, spring is coming home now.