We Get to Choose

Yep, felt a bit spunky when I wrote this. But don’t we all know people who, through our eyes, their kindness fades or we see something in their character that we can no longer tolerate? We get to choose our friends, our partners. If our relationship with them causes us to feel emotionally damaged, we also get to unchoose them. Cool, huh? Easy? Not always. Still, life is short and we all deserve to be treated with kindness and respect. Because that’s what we give, right?

How Could I Know? #writephoto

crossing

If you stay on one side

and I the other

how will I know the color of your eyes

what tune your voice plays when your words lilt into the air?

How will I know if humor is one of your senses

or if the shoes you wear have traveled far?

I want to know what made you grow

and what kept you stagnant

what made you smile

and what made you weep

If you stay on one side

and I the other

how would I ever be

enlightened?

#writephoto

When I Grow Up …

 

barrie_maguire_quiltcailleach_3

She believed there were only pros to fusing things together

the bricks to build her house

the quilts to keep her grandchildren warm

the neighbors at the parties she threw

She was a pro at fusing things.

Nothing came apart.

Nothing tore.

Nothing fell.

No one was left out.

And all because she was generous with her love,

plentiful in her resources,

abounding with energy.

In all these things, she was profuse

never lacking

seldom flawed

and never felt defective.

In her wrinkled, aging hands

she held the world together.

I want to be like her when I grow up.

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Image one credit

Image two credit

via Profuse

 

The Hidden to Light

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Entertain me with your laughter

not your bravado

dance for me a jig

and smile when I join you

Extend your hand

and walk me across the water

into a field of wild flowers

Run without thought

to catch my hat from the breeze

Talk to me of topics peaceful

and fill me with stories of compassion

Take me to your favorite place

and share with me the secrets inside

Remove the metal around your chest

to show me the softness within.

And I will shelter you from the storm.

 

photo credit

via Entertain

Dancing Away Sorrow

twirling-white-skirt-lg

My legs move fast

my feet still remember

Mama ran away.

The Charleston ends

my feet, still

I plunk a new recording on Victor Victrola

plant the needle in the grove

turn the crank.

My feet move again

green and yellow squares of rug

melt together

I spin, braid pinging from one shoulder

to the next

like two different suitors

tapping my shoulder

asking to be my dance partner.

Like a wild mushroom,

my skirt puffs

the swoosh of movement says,

“Everything will be alright again.”

I squint to believe.

 

photo credit

 

 

via Mushroom

Two crackers shy of a box

She’s here. Now.

No need to check on me.

Go home, Miss Helen,

moonshine maker.

 

Miss Helen

two crackers shy of a box

hair colored orange (she thinks is red)

pokes out on the ends like soggy cactus needles

unless she’s driving Roadster

pulls red tam pulled tight over head

big bosoms poke steering wheel

with hands clutched tight

elbows poking out on both sides

Peers through windshield

wearing aviator goggles.

 

She’s here. Now.

No need to check on me.

Go home, Miss Helen,

moonshine maker.

 

Beats her gums about town folk –

“Saw Betty at the Five and Dime…”

“Oh, Lordy, the dentist, he’s …”

I stop listening

Think of something else.

Oh, Lordy.

She slaps and fluffs a couch pillow.

Dust bunnies flit around her orange hair.

 

Don’t lay down! Don’t lay down.

Go home, Miss Helen.

moonshine maker

My house, too small

for two crackers.

images

 

 

photo credit

daily word prompt: fluff

The Way of Things

I remember this, my last conversation with Papa.

He, trying to alleviate our pain.

But I heard, through his bravado

the saddened beat of my heart

submerged in deep water

no knowledge of how to stay afloat

grief no words could express

He said,

“Remember the sandhill crane?”

How could I forget?

Long necks

the sound of their rattle calls  

broad wings flying over

ancestral farmland

He said,

“She’s like the hourglass that drips the sand of time

replenishes herself by picking leftovers from the field

She keeps moving forward.

She never stops.

She is you

and she is me.

Our fields, too deep to forget

Too vast to go away.

I will never truly leave you” 

“Is this the way of things, Papa?”

 “Ja, mein liebes.” 

“It is,” he smiled.

sandhill-cranes-dancing-jon-janosik

 

Prose adapted from my novel, “Naked, She Lies

Photo credit

Express

So, you’ve made a mistake. Now what?

Do you wrap your shoulders in guilt?

Does it make you feel better?

Of course not.

You did what you did, but the moment has passed.

Perhaps it is regret that you are feeling.

Regret is better. It means you have taken that nugget,

examined it with neutral hands

and learned from it.

So, you wash your hands with compassionate soap

and remind yourself that you are not a fraud

but a human flawed

like everyone else.

Be brave and accept

being flawed only adds to your perfection.

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Brave