August 9th, 2016
becoming older is simple
it sneaks up on you,
until it doesn’t
realizing my limitations,
aching for bones that don’t ache,
watching bruises bloom from simple bumps,
such an adventure
happily, i can still walk.
if i could not,
i would have missed this beauty
she will also grow old,
crumple in on herself
and lose her amazing petals,
which feel wooden to my careful touch
it is my joy to have witnessed her life
even as my aging body requires me to walk slowly enough to notice
do not allow your old age to be stolen from you
your stuff isn’t worth it
don’t wait to leave until the day after he kills you
June 15th, 2016
I remember a time
when people had no need for guns
when dogs slept in the streets, and children played there
doors were never locked,
and neighbors came and went like family
news did not travel quite so quickly then, and it was not so bad it seems
I wish that my children
and their children
could have known the world as it was then
but time moves always forward
old, and bent, and troubled
with bullets and bombs
breaking what it can not bend
June 14th, 2016
the flower is old
but the bush lives,
there will be another flower
does she struggle to breathe?
is she fearful of the end?
growing older changes me
i feel dried out
i do not want to be replaceable,
gone from my own life,
but, i am vain
May 11th, 2016
it seems that we keep time
in before and after.
not so much in days or years,
but in moments that stop everything.
some moments create deep fissures
in the skin of our souls,
as though splintering the heart,
penetrating even our deepest being.
each soul is marked by scars
by tears not shed
by pain too great
by fires gone out
April 2nd, 2016
This is my walk
Nearly every day
I say hello to flowers and trees and tall grass
as they sparkle in the late afternoon sun
My heart records their incredible beauty and sad decay.
I focus on the shapes and colors of the leaves,
the twisted limbs of ancient trees.
every flower is delicate, unique.
some are faded, some vibrant
some reaching around others for a glimpse of the sun
The scent on the wind
infuses unspeakable joy
into my heart and my bones.
My sister walks with me
almost every day,
but not today, and I am feeling alone
until I notice
that today feels magical
the late spring sunset has cast a golden glow on everything around me
I touch the low branches and caress the leaves
and I realize that I, too, am part what happens here
I am not just an observer
I belong here
March 18th, 2016
no sooner does my head touch the pillow
than the patchwork quilt of my memories and regrets
pulls itself up around me
and snuggles in for the night.
whether lovely or sad, has its own patch in the quilt.
the beautiful faces of my children and grandchildren,
my poor little mother, dying before she was even my age,
chasing fireflies on soft summer nights,
priorities and pride
to temporary needs and desire.
each patch is stitched to the next with the dark threads of regret.
i can find no forgiveness for myself.
time and age have not softened my sorrows,
nor the pain of regret
for the sorrows I have caused.
if it weren’t for the big yellow mutt
who demands his space on the bed each night
I don’t think I would ever sleep.
February 19th, 2016
it doesn’t matter how many times I start over,
only that I do.
hypnosis is my love,
I can do this.
I am good at this.
but the time is now
to return to what I love and what I can do well.
I will begin again.
January 11th, 2016
tonight, i feel like a bird’s nest covered with skin.
broken, twisted little branches
held together with bits of string and sticks and stems
wound up tighter than necessary
to protect the pieces of me
that have yet to shatter
December 5th, 2015
walking slowly through the white walls of the museum
among brilliant works of masterful color
suddenly i was face to face with the crying woman
she screamed and screamed at me
trapped in canvas forever
there was no way i could help her
but i understood completely
November 16th, 2015
Today I attended a holiday boutique with my lovely, talented, oldest daughter, who was showing her hand-made aprons. The show was in a a hair salon. It is more modern I suppose, than when my mother had been their client many years ago, but essentially the same. I recognized it right away.
My mother had thick, unmanageable hair. Today there are many products that could have made her life easier, but back then she resorted to keeping it cut short and styled simply, so that she had to struggle with it less.
I don’t know how long she had been going to that salon, but it seems that the stylists had started calling her Brillo hair. Brillo is a product made of thin wire and soap, used for cleaning pots and pans. How terribly sad. How cruel we can be to one another. if only continued »