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my patchwork quilt

March 18th, 2016

springno 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 soft summer nights,
priorities and pride
surrendered
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.


begin again

February 19th, 2016

Image 16
it doesn’t matter how many times I start over,
only that I do.

hypnosis is my love,
my power.
I can do this.
I am good at this.

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

I will begin again.

exposure

January 11th, 2016

brittletonight, 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


screaming at the sun

December 5th, 2015

starfire-detail-7_2-e1447220986161walking 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 deep red sorrow
and i know
and she knows that I know

if only

November 16th, 2015

flower2Today 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 »

rain

November 1st, 2015

rain-300x170-300x170

burning black sand
extravagantly bright flowers 
quite suddenly dripping
 with warm rain
 that pounds the earth with unreasonable fury

in a moment, the rain is gone 
and the sand is burning hot again

violence is not rain
it does not simply stop.
bravery is necessary
yet one time more 
than you believe is in you

run
before you cannot

storm

October 24th, 2015

winter-storm-300x143suddenly the storm is me
my emotions rage and tear the air 
like debris tossed about in a wild wind

i will not be peaceful if it means dying with the words suffocated behind my lips

i will not be a shadow any longer
i must stand in the light
even if it is a storm

merciless

September 8th, 2015

Image-5downcast eyes, twisted smile,

she thinks that she is hiding the pain
dancing on a wire

to a tune played by her leading man

it is a frantic dance,

a carefully choreographed ballet.
any flat look of disappointment sends ice into her heart

there is no end to the music

no breather between sets

she must anticipate each twirl and spin

for failure is unthinkable

and punishment is swift

when she finally sleeps,

her dreams are wastelands.

sadly, she still hopes to please

to find what is lacking, repair the breach, 
and return to the fairy tale

she seems brittle,

as though truth would open her veins


destiny

September 6th, 2015

I never wanted to bring children into a world where an idiot with a red button could end every living thing in moments, or, where nuclear fallout could make survival worse than death. What a fool I was. I thought the world was too dangerous for children, but my relationship with their father was the real poison in our lives.

Image 8

I was not his victim. I realize that now. I could have walked away a thousand times before I became so stuck in my own mind that escape seemed impossible. In the end, I became my own victim. I decided to believe that the things he said about me were true, his estimation of my worth as a human being, and my abilities as a parent.

He said that I would never leave him because I could never make it on my own, that I would never be able to support our children. And I decided to believe that I needed him. I decided to believe that I was helpless without him. I decided that it was my destiny to have that life, and that I deserved my fate. destiny continued »

time

July 14th, 2015

IMG_4912time is crashing into me
heavy
demanding

i have bared my soul to the universe so that
perhaps
one
woman might live a better life

i hope it is enough