Category Archives: poem

Cloth Worth Weaving

We brought our screaming demons to heel

Our human bonds illuminate our immortal shields

Our roots run deep in Appalachian dead

Earned by laughter,

tears,

and broken bread

The Fates have granted the brightest path left

Deeply, clearly woven, in waft and weft

Intricate dances of prismatic threads

Bedecked in a wardrobe from deep riverbeds

Created with magic from circles of trust

The sacred chalice untarnished by rust

The Living Altar of each human’s being

Covenant together a future farseeing

Estella-TAMP

Tragedy marked her life

Grief visited often for wine

Patience held her hand

History lived in deep companionship 

Her spirit permeated the room

With elegant; lady-like perfume.

Every greeting warmed fresh with loving heart, 

delivered with compassionate hands.

Adventure called her naivety which she answered joyfully.

Even if she glimpsed her rear view mirror,

Her vision always focused on the road in front of her.

With resilient strength she held her line as long as she could

Con todo mi corazón, me muevo con mayor suavidad gracias a Estella Gomez del Campo.

with my whole heart, I move more gently because of Estella Gomez del Campo

Witness

I will be your witness.

I, but a casual name to your kin,

will hold you truly and dearly,

cherish deeply the breaths

Between ideas, ideology, and emotions

That I have been honored to share with you.

With the reverence afforded a blessing

I will weep for the absence

of your knowledge

severed by inevitable occasion

Master to servant

Teacher to student

Friendship entertained

with portions communal

A time of Kairos inspected.

The right, critical, or opportune moment

To bring witness and testimony of you

To the level of intimacy you’ve granted.

The Weight of Hours

Time drips like water through cupped hands,

each second a small death

we cannot hold.

The clock face stares with hollow eyes,

counting down what we pretend

is infinite—

this borrowed breath,

this temporary warmth

beneath our skin.

In hospital corridors,

fluorescent lights hum lullabies

for the sleepless,

while somewhere a heart

forgets its rhythm,

stops mid-beat

like a song

cut short.

We are all walking

toward the same door,

carrying our small griefs

like stones in our pockets,

heavy with the knowledge

that morning

may not come

for everyone.

The earth keeps turning,

indifferent to our names,

our dreams scattered

like autumn leaves—

beautiful in their falling,

brief in their glory

Vacillation

Sometimes when I’m alone

feeling sorry for myself

Lonely for the company of another,

I think of you.

I look around and see artifacts

gathered around me like ghosts.

I remember how much we laughed.

But I also remember how much I cried.

I feel the warmth of your hand.

I feel a longing for what was; not what is.

I miss you terribly

but not enough to give up the happiness I’ve built.

I refocus on my own company

I think of everything I’ve accomplished since “we”

And yes, I still miss you, but you’ve become

a fond memory of abandoned dreams

Fifty year drought

babydoll

I had a baby.

Her name didn’t/doesn’t matter.

She lay in her stroller with her arms outstretched.

I smiled down at her, cooing gentle words of love.

I swaddled her a bit tighter against the chill.

As each car passed on the nearly vacant street,

I’d sing a little louder so they’d know I was a mom.

It’s all I ever wanted to be.

INTERLUDE

The MMR wasn’t created when I was born.

When my brother came along and got his,

nobody thought to inoculate me.

At twelve years old, my throat and neck hurt so badly.

My mom gave me a dill pickle (LOVE THEM) but I couldn’t swallow.

Diagnosis: The mumps.

Aged and married: Clomid, Pergonal, temperatures, acne, painful periods,

nothing. nothing. nothing.

Failed adoption. Ectopic miscarriage, failed adoption

GUARDIANSHIP x two!

Rejected for violence. Rejected for drugs.

nothing. nothing. nothing.

PART TWO

ultrasound

You can’t possibly know how many times I’ve been gracious,

how many times I’ve oohed and aah-ed over black gray blobs

What it’s like to see beautiful mothers holding their beautiful babies

while my arms hold back my sadness, my longing, my relief.

I’m not resentful that they have my dreams wrapped in their love.

I’m not angry that their wishes came true. I’m not even upset.

PART THREE

birth-control-1

Am I less than a woman for not showing proof of fertility?

Am I less than a woman for my body’s refusal to carry life?

I feel betrayed each time blood flows from my barren womb.

All of the pain, emotions, heating pads, and carb stuffing…for what?

Another reminder that I’m not like the others. Another storm trooper miss.

 

 

I miss you, my muse

alone

There is a place where we can’t meet

Where your face remains unknown

It is a place where silence stands

It is the time when I’m alone

Muses holding my creative reprimands

It is there where I turn from cheek to cheek

Longing for the words you speak

But in this place, organically grown,

Is a haven for me to be completely alone

It is a place that refuses other’s hands

It holds me warmly to meet its demands

It is there, where my rivers peak

Giving me the words I must speak

 

I can’t deny, I can’t erase

The billowing spirit

from your face

Emanating fiercely

From your own within

Reaching through

my waters

forbidden

 

 

Love Lives

The place that is welcoming

is the home where love lives

Not only where love is,

but where it is cherished

nurtured, adored, revered,

but most of all,

given fertile soil to blossom

overly abundant blooms everywhere.