Soon

 

a drop of blood stains
a part of her dress
burns the color of green
to a fatal red
her branches flail against
a deceitful wind
catching bloodless brown leaves
falling
the slow and deliberate
dance of death
her defense against the world
decaying at her feet

without loss
no prized possessions
without Autumn
no promise of Spring

understanding the secret of survival
she stands naked, stands still
wears the chill of change
like a seasoned sage

Dangling

for Braveheart


 

i’m hanging from
the corner of a star
or the moon
or maybe the branch
of a tree

if i fall
you’ll catch me
put be back
where i belong

above you
where you watch
me sparkle
light your darkness
me sway
in the breeze
of your love

sunrise

streaks of violet and gold line

her silver hair

as she awakes

she is old

rises with the flair of youth

an entry rehearsed through

centuries of practice

New

 

Worries

I do not want to sweep them under a rug, or vacuum them up. They only recirculate into the air.

I do not want to paint them with words, dress them in silk, or sing about them as my salvation.

I want to plant them as seeds in my mind. Whether they choose to grow wildly as weeds, or pliable as planned,

I own them.
I love them.
I am them.


The Color of Love

There are no instructions. Even experiences cannot guarantee the same outcome.

So we will grow, sometimes together, sometimes apart. We will talk, and fill this a new book with our stories. We will sing, and fill a new air with our songs. We will cry, and fill a new lake with our tears. We will paint, and fill a new canvas with the colors of our love.

Together

 
photo by David Shogren

as the days grow colder
and the light fades
the evening chill settles
rattles my bones
to autumn’s pitch
the music of change
trills through my ears
whispers at my nape

are you ready?

my mind freezes
my heart skips a beat
I am paralyzed with fear

am I ready?

the soft glow of light
deepens your eyes
as you revive
the expectant mother
rock her gently
in your gaze

your assured thoughts
your encouraging words
your soft hands
weave a quilt of warmth
a pattern of safety
when I feel defenseless
against winter
against motherhood

our thoughts dance slowly
our hearts beat in sync
our hands lock
in the promise of joy

we are ready
for her

Wellness

I’d like to walk in a forest of trees or near the water’s edge in silence to hear Nature’s wisdom.

I’d like to choose foods that nourish and sustain my health forever, not just for the given moment.

I’d like to release all my weight before I sleep, and awake to a morning of possibilities.

I’d like to accept others’, as well as my own shortcomings, and view them as journeys. We would travel the distance and see beyond our own misconceptions.

I’d like to hold on to my spirituality as a buoy to save me from drowning. It could also be a ship that carried me to new islands of spirituality that I have missed in my own practice.

There are healers who sell wellness on TV, in the news or newspapers, in magazines, or on the internet as if it were a novel item, a recent invention.

The answer is simple. The answer is free.

How badly do you want it?

Little Girl

I am drawn to the beach of my childhood - a heart as vast as the ocean, filled with the fluidity of changing love and the sting of salted tears on a broken-shelled heart.

I was a girl, loving everyone who promised eternal drowning in the blue, brown, or grey of their eyes. One look of interest, and I was gone. Resurfacing alone was an afterthought, after I realized that I was the only one drowning. He wasn’t in the same ocean. He wasn't even standing at the waters edge to save the helpless girl flailing violently in her sea of tears.

As a woman, I stand on the same beach. I look to the horizon, and think of how much water the ocean holds, how much love this heart now holds. My daughter will be standing here, or somewhere else. What will her life's metaphor be? Will she love them like I did, or will she learn to love herself first? Will I, can I influence her concept of self-love?

I will love you, regardless of performance, or behavior, or looks. I will have expectations, and will try to balance them with the scope of your spirit. I promise to love you, and I hope in time you will love you as I do.

I whisper these words, as they gently caress and float over the tides, to two girls -the younger me, and the little one inside me.