[ Content | Sidebar ]

Archives for domestic violence

living in color

Will I be grateful for my life when it is over?
or, will I die wanting more?
I hope not.
Time, and time, and more time, to what end?
I am learning to be grateful for temporary things
love, kinship, a smile, eyes that truly see.
I look at the trees,
I doubt they complain about the years they don’t have.
It seems [...]

that damn shoe

You taught me to walk in the other one’s shoes,
rather than feel my own pain.
Maybe that person had a bad day, maybe their feet hurt…
maybe that person is just mean and I shouldn’t try to understand!
I wish I had just told you to walk in my shoes!
I had enough pain, didn’t need someone else’s.
I needed [...]

the smell of water

there is no sidewalk, so i walk in the street.
the hills are steep for my old knees
but my legs are strong now
i love that i can smell the water
and almost taste the green of the cool space
near the top of the longest hill.
there are always birds here
and small critters i can hear, but not see
the [...]

dying on the vine

growing older changes me
i feel watered down
less self-reliant
colorless

old news

but time moves always forward
old, and bent, and troubled
with bullets and bombs
and terror
and it breaks what it can not bend

sparkle

I am feeling alone
until I notice
that today feels magical
the late spring sunset has cast a golden glow on everything around me

my patchwork quilt

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.
every remembrance,
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 [...]

begin again

life interfered
but the time is now
to return to what I love and what I can do well.

screaming at the sun

walking slowly
through sterile parquet hallways,
stark walls announce original works of masterful color,
aching with soulful beauty.
each wrenched from brush and palate by a captive artist
who gave hope and heart to beauty
only to die alone
quite suddenly
i am face to face with the Crying Woman.
trapped in canvas ’till dust again
i stare at her for a time
drowning in her [...]

if only

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, [...]