Angels don’t always appear
With wings unfurled,
Golden gliding
Their halos don’t always gleam
Polished perfection
Brightly blinding
I bear witness to apparition
Willing giving
Blessed binding
Scarred and battered
Beauty born
Souls a’sliding
The Tender Heart
A tender heart gives love like breath
like clinging to a mother’s breast
flowing freely falling fast
love is born to last
too last
But also is the bite of death
that cracks the shine of granted health
broken hearts are staples
for those that are truly able
to give
to love
to be
all in without fear
regret only for not having more time
but loving while remaining blind
to the inevitable end
Pass it onward!
The girl in the attic
When I was little, I was made to be small.
My voice was taken, shaken, and broken.
I was told murderous lies
that forced silence
locked me away floating
above my body
in the dark corner
witnessing the streetlight
that bled my windowsill orange
while he crushed breath from my lungs
with the sour smell of stale beer,
spicy sour pine,
and putrified cigarettes
I was confused why they screamed
but I was forced to not make a sound
no matter how much it hurt
no matter if I couldn’t feel my body
no matter if I got lost in the night.
I prayed, one day,
that I’d be small enough,
maybe,
to disappear altogether.
Pass it onward!
Today vs 355 Days Ago
Today I watched an emergency vehicle roar
followed by a chorus of five more
the hymn they sang was not for me
but I found myself unable to breathe
I started to panic, filled with fear
as if they were suddenly going to stop here
I wear her shirts and her ashes
as if those would conjure her
breathe, ironically, life back to her
to us
to the moment in time where we were
all of we, together, being happily.
It was a feeling of holy
a feeling of communion
as we broke bread together
The laughter we shared
reciting our ancient tales
filled us faster than food
She just at fifty, me at 49
We’d spent a love-time of life
but never enough time
The chaplain at the hospital said,
on the day Bean really died,
“Maybe you were the face of God
she had to see before she could
finally be at peace.”
It was the most comforting words
because I often think of them.
I often think of Bean’s face in that same way,
the face I needed see before she went home
Pass it onward!
Devoted Spirit
I know you.
I know you are here.
I honor that I am blessed with you.
You feel every beat of your life belonging within me,
with me,
surrounding me
I know that your loving breath is my purpose for being
That your tears are my grief because we are one
That your smile is my laughter so loud it leaks from my eyes
That your silence is the peace I have only known with you
What you can hold, I am but weak
What you can give, I am ever poor
What you esteem, I am earthly bound
Yet you shower me with treasures untold
You cherish my heart and my spirit
You renew me despite each stumbling,
fumbling,
crumbling error
Restoring me to the finest temple where together we abide
For this boon,
my heart is ever yours
to fill and guide as you will.,
Pass it onward!
A Polaroid
He lounged on the end of the tea house sofa with a glass of wine in his hand
He smiled a shy smile, looking up from under his hooded eyes that sparkled with pride.
He spoke of love for the sweaty hippie girl that plodded a hill
Probably wearing braids.
He knew he wanted to embrace love,
He knew she would: be love, mother love, personify home.
When he speaks of his longing, it’s not of home, but for her.
He blesses her with words that only poets understand.
He begs for belief in his worthiness of her wonder, her coffee brown home.
I imagine her smiling at him, shaking her head with wisdom.
She knows. She understands. She sees. She loves this man.
I see the words he thinks of her, and I know he “gets it.”
He believes in her, trusts in her, and prays she understands.
I know she does. That he doesn’t, makes him want to work.
It makes him think of that woman he’s always loved.
That he will always love, that is worthy of everything because,
He’s never seen a mother that was willing to be as home to him as she.
She is his beloved
Pass it onward!
“Be Safe”
Okay, I’ll admit it. I want to be safe in the sense that I don’t get shot in my house. I want to be safe in the sense that when I walk down my streets at night with my little dog, waiting on her to do her “business”, I’m not going to be attacked. I want to be safe enough that when I follow the road rules, I don’t get in an accident because others also want to be safe, or rather, unharmed.
But there is a part of me that doesn’t want to be safe. Being safe takes a chunk away from the loudness of life. It reduces the voices of exuberant laughter to polite chuckles. It sucks the genuine grief from our deepest fears and distills it into quiet murmuring condolences. It shatters the adventure of stepping one foot outside of your comfort zone by giving the illusion of safety.
But safety, like everything, is an illusion. It’s not real. It surprises us because we expect things to be the same. We expect to wake up, go about our day without incident, return home, eat the same meal we did last week, watch regurgitated shows with different characters but the same stories, and go to bed at the same time. It’s our expectation of safety that, pardon my french, fucks us up.
Chaos and change are the way of the world. If we could control any of it, we’d be reasonable in our expectations, but we do not. We can do our best not to contribute, by following the rules, obeying laws, keeping an eye out for ne’er-do-wells, but being safe is a lie we tell ourselves so we can live with minimal fear.
My Aunt Lizzie and Uncle Dave are driving a different route back from their vacation in Maine. It has places for them to stop that they’ve never been before which means the potential for a fantastic adventure. But in the commentary on their shared pictures, there were all the comments from a variety of people telling them to, “Be safe.” The comments are made with love and not as admonitions, mind you. They are meant with the best of intentions. But I don’t think I’ll wish them the same.
I wish them to be unharmed but in no way to be safe. I want them to have the adventure they’re hoping for on the new route. I want them to have experiences that will give them the best adventure with minimal difficulty. I want them to see things so spectacular it takes their breath away because they chose to stop somewhere they wouldn’t ordinarily get to see. I want them to experience every drop of grandness in the views, every bliss to be had floating on the breeze. I want them to taste the rain as if it were their first time. To have Ruby show them the newborn idea of life heroic in a way that brings them fits of delight. But, I do not wish them to “be safe”.
