Tag: relationships

Window Shopping

Oh, do so pardon me,

Window shopping only, dear.

No temptation to try it on for size

in some strange dressing room,

to look in the mirror to see

exactly how it fits.

No touch of whimsy

to impulse buy

only to return,

and God forbid,

pay any re-stocking fee.

I may appreciate the look.

I may so enjoy

reading the product description,

but no,

no thank you, my dear.

Please, no trial samples

to increase the clutter

I’ve collected over years.

You see, love,

it’s like in Ecclesiastes,

there  is a time to buy

and a time to leave it on the rack.

Yes, sweetie,

I know it’s on sale,

but the return policy

is too exhausting with disclaimers

to know if it’s worth the risk

of finding a good fit.

So, for now, my sweat pea,

let me just peruse

the clearance stacks

and perhaps read

the product contents

out of simple curiosity.

Perhaps, one day,

though, I doubt it,

my dear,

I’ll find something

that strikes my fancy,

take it from the rack

to the fitting room,

try it on for size,

and find a good enough fit

to buy.

Fairy Tale

Once upon a time,

It starts.

To begin it not

Acceptance since—

It is as it has always been.

Love and loss,

Desire and lust,

Sex and sin,

Pain and pleasure

Twisted and braided into rope

To bind our souls

Struggling against the rope

To escape such exquisite pain,

Yet seeking                                          

To find within such passionate pleasure,

A relief to modern existence.

All too willing

To believe anything told–

From fairytales to lies,

Finding comfort

In a fool’s belief

Of such romantic notions

To ignore photos displayed

Of wine and treats arranged in twos,

A photo of the same card given,

Wishes of happiness in the margins.

It is here that words told

And appearances do not mesh.

Make a choice of what is true

And believe in faith of carnival games.

So one can curl against

Such soft warm skin

As if it contained a potion

To wash away the stain

Of sin and bring the happy ending.

Winter Destruction

The cruelest time is winter.

Green, nesting in the folds of flower petals,

That once basked in summer sun

Withers,

Crackling in dryness.

Then comes the stomping,

Crunching of ice.

Innocence destroyed.

The Prodigal

Motherhood erased
The caesarean scar, the only trace,
A testament to what once was,
It holds a degree of lingering numbness
After these twenty years:
Nerves that cannot reconnect
To a self without motherhood.
Yes, a touch of numbness
As the child with her mother’s face
Turns away, rejecting the truth teller,
Rejecting the baptism of love, of name, of tears.

Let the child walk away.
Perhaps in losing her way,
She will find the path back,
A way to recognize being found
In the reflection of her own face.

Rest

 

Black white color dreams
Waking in the in-between
Of the heat and chill
Stillness of a soul’s rest
Within the petals of the blessed
As on a windless sun hot day
A softness of grace finally felt

 

Trails

Set out years ago
Dropped breadcrumbs
Some no bigger than dust particles
Of the soul
Along the roads and paths
Thought I’d find my way back,
There’d be time
There’d be years
Be months
Weeks
Days
Seconds
Left before the sand
Absconded with the hourglass
To find the trail of dust and crumbs
Sweep and pour them
Back into the soul
Add a few ingredients
Create once more
From the beginning

 

But birds and squirrels
Feasted on the leavings
And I’ve no desire
To return to where I started.

 

 

History

history image

Spun out from the centrifuge
Twisted in helix meaning
Strands entwined, twisted back
Stretching toward history within heritage
Search through the montage of time
Sift through pounds of truth and lies
For a few ounces of purity
Measured out within the mess
The now was the past
Where to walk
We travel back
On twisted helix roads
To the selves we were
So very long ago
And learn
The future braided
In the past
With the now
And made us whole

Trash at the Curb

Trash by the curb
Cardboard boxes nested
One within the other
Standing upright, resting
Against the edge of the smallest,
An old collage Walmart picture frame,
Matting included,
Old photos still within the frame,
A wedding, a first baby then a second,
Graduations and first cars,
Pictures telling a story of a family,
Colors faded by the sun
Having spent years by a window

Cleaning

To clean a heart and soul,
the way we clean a house:
scrub away
the grime and grease,
bleach away
the mold and mildew,
polish away
the dusty dullness,
vacuum away
dirt and dust
and leaves and grass
tracked in on muddy
dog paws,
who then shake wet fur
all over the floor,
yes, even vacuum away
all the hair shed upon the floor
by dogs and you,
then mop away
dried dirt,
straightening and organizing
as you go.

Then rest,
enjoying the gleam and shine
before opening the door
to visitors once more.
Yes, if only a soul
Could be cleaned
So very easily.

Truth

What truth is there but this?
Contained within the sand, wind,
An inky blue sapphire sea
Watching whales and seals play
As they sing their songs of joy
I listen
Their language so foreign to me
A vocabulary of rejoicing
In all that God has made
I can neither interpret nor define
Within this human construct
That it seems God forgot
Yet I seek to know
What they say
Of love
Of grief
Of play
Of joy