Next Christmas

Forgive my lack of merriment,
       I’ll forgive your lack of presence
                             and the only gift I want
                                   this year is for this not to become tradition.
                                                                 Next Advent, I’d rather wait for Jesus.

I’m asking grace
for my lack of cheer,
and extending grace
          to all.
But I need flesh
                for this skeletal
                family,
just a manger for my heart.
              Next Christmas, I want you here.




submitting at Gooseberry Garden

Old and New

Schmaltz, I want to call it but this is mere self-protection.
       Memories pose no threat but tears, and might those serve me cleansing.
Families flow as do tears and strength is formed through both.

So, I’ll name it clarity rather than sentimentality as I pave uncharted territories. Photos, mementos and recollections, these my map
                                            and treasure.
Let’s deck the halls this season,bravely,
                                               both with old and new. 

submitting at Jingle Poetry 

Bring it on

“It’s a great day for ducks,” my dad would say whenever it would rain.
                                               Yes, and a great day for me. 
Today, I will join the ducks.  I will let
the rain pour upon me.  My umbrella, my rain boots and a smile on my face, I’m here to say,  
‘Rain, bring it on.’




submitting at bluebell books

You Decide

In your own mind, you are a superhero.
The pages glossy as your mind,
         and me,
              maybe I'm catwoman, loving you or hating you
                 and you decide.
You write the story, you choose the ending
and somehow you see not that a victim should not be offered a cape.

Time

Time, no longer in tempo, and I've forgotten the meaning, anyway.
Here, now, it feels like hell but in another time and place, we'll meet.
This is hope.  These are prayer said as the hourglass of our lives, slowly drips its sand.
Which epoch began last Friday? Was it last or a week before?  The calendar keeps better time than I but doesn't help if I never look at it.  You, I want to look at but you don't see.  Time is elusive as love.


bluebell books

dverse

"The saddest thing I ever heard,” Maggie answered. 

But, no, she hadn’t said that. That’s just what Jess had thought she’d say and hearing what she'd wanted to, she now couldn’t educe what words Maggie had really delivered. Too much was clanging around now. Had she suggested even the word sad? A word close to sad? It was awful, tragic, sickening, heart-wrenching.  It was. It was when Jess had witnessed it, and still when she remembered it for it wasn’t gone.  It had made a home within her and sometimes she was successful at locking the door to that abode, travelling elsewhere, but when she came back to her heart which sometimes and unfortunately beat on solid ground, that was what she had to return to.  So whatever Maggie had remarked, it should have been what Jess had wanted to hear.  Something, anything to mitigate the fact that here, her heart was a shack and that only in her dreams was there a safe place to dwell.

“You’re angry today, Jess and that’s okay.”  Maggie voice softened as she continued, “But I wonder if really you’re just sad?”

Could she be angry and sad at the same time or was the anger holding fort, keeping the tears at bay, avoiding any healing or reconciliation between one world and another?

 Jess protected her face with her hands to hide its contortion when she squeezed it tight, willing anguish of some form to alleviate. 

Maggie stood from the chair by the bed and approached the bed where she then perched, placing  her left hand on Jess’ thigh by her knee.  Jess felt something in her heart burst and she began to now cry hard.  

Maggie didn’t speak but nor did she act as though she were uncomfortable with Jess’ show of emotion. 

How would she ever be able to do this? Retain that peace and joy she felt with him, and bring it over?  She wasn’t strong enough.  In this state, even with Maggie’s presence she was fighting hard against the voices and the smudges of what she thought she’d polished in strong veneer.  Now the tears exposed her own truth, perhaps, that she was weak and weary and bone scared and sad but actually furious too.  Furious about the situation.  This was a no-man’s land for her. It was built for others- not for her.  Her diagnosis only proved that. She’d barely been able to walk through it before, and now how would she ever?

“You aren’t alone here,”  Maggie said finally as Jess’ tears ran dry as the land she felt she lived in.  

When you don't know
where your story's going
because you don't know where
             your life is going.....


             Keep going.
                               Go with the
flow or go against the grain
but, go.

There is healing in movement.
                             Move loudly in protest
                                or move slowly in silence
but be
moved.  To tears,
             to action,
             to goodness,
             and on toward necessary change.

You worry
you're wandering.
but steps mean trust and the path is hidden only from your weak eyes.
      Strain, seek.  It will one day be made plain.