Attached to this moment by a thin string pulled
by a memory my body won’t cut loose.
An uncoordinated swallow and choking breath
release head from heart.
Alone
At risk
Trust dissolved in rhythms that would otherwise heal.
The Rape
Attached to this moment by a thin string pulled
by a memory my body won’t cut loose.
An uncoordinated swallow and choking breath
released the head from my heart.
Alone
At risk
Trust dissolved in rhythms that would otherwise heal.
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Brew
- Photo by Chamod Kushan on Pexels.com
Morning tea preferred
warm, gentle
Coffee every morning
powered
by enthusiasm to blend a version
of his perfection.
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Promise year: 41
To have and to hold “will not last long”
-too messy too expectant they said
yet 41 promise years later,
we stand each whole and yet one.
Never really over,
the gospel of love embraced.
The time together traced in the lives of too many
but especially three
with days years or moments left to bloom.
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Origins
Only so many heartbeats said a man-
trusting scarcity somehow to direct a life.
But daughters
hold treasured seeds of grandma’s eyes and DNA
inside their wombs not yet full
and they dance.
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Open Books
Can you read without listening to the words?
Can you see without hearing thoughts?
Ignorance protects.
Love opens.
Time to bow to the listening side of our hearts.
Image thanks to gacochran@wordpress
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Pressured
Not just frayed but edges pressed
pulled away with time
in pieces laid open.
Broken bloodlines crushed
still reaching for daylight
heart in hand
in love-seasoned life.
Photography courtesy of Guldman “TheGolden Hour” wordpress.com
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Daughters Sad Goodbye
His poverty of love betrayed every effort
and he settled for survival-
afraid even of comfort
a man alone in a mind framed by fear.
His death came as could be expected-
outside, nature fallen.
Along his years-
he was loved without knowing how to love,
embraced not knowing how to hold,
home not knowing how to father.
Yet in this moment, in this breath
he is today beloved.
photography courtesy of Sarah Vaughn
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Reconciliation
The story deep in the marrow of my life betrays the simple touch of air to skin. Blood-spilt memories lay unheard, unknown but pulse with my breath and soul.
The stains of love and hate look the same in me and equally reflect the tragedy of my fears-
and I pray for reconciliation.
Photography courtesy of Ginny Hunt
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Easter
Smooth and loose inviting touch
…soft puppy-belly-wrinkle-like
not morning’s bite so crisp or cool
but Friday peaceful inside-out.
The sigh, drawn breath… pain and all
embracing life most tender there.
A gaze embalms the heart to flesh,
enmeshed triune incarnate life
…soft puppy-belly-wrinkle-like
smooth and loose inviting touch.
Photography courtesy of Pat Cegan
