Archive | November, 2017

Hourglass

29 Nov

 

 
Bed,
blanket and bundle.
At my back
a ball of breathing
black pillowdog,
a warm cocoon against
the cold coming day.
They say
be happy right now.
Not to wait
or time will run out.
So I am happy for this half
of the bed
that holds me.
And  dream chill stillness
slows the seconds
for the other.

Grandmothers

20 Nov

 

I wonder

what happens to

women wizened and wise,

those bent inside their

cottage and fence.

Were once, they fae?

To dance fields of flowers

seems an awful bargain to

absent the flesh of rocking cradles.

To have pockets filled of

dustwishes to give,

but not for use.

What of her own

when there is nothing left

inside paperhusk and rind,

past fruitfulness?

Two wells for eyes,

the color of

knowingwater.

Is that why they sigh?

To rock the ache away?

To be a sentinel of time,

the herald of fate,

scissors dangling from red ribbon

clipsharp ready,

full of lessons learned

like a compass needle toward

Mother and our inevitable return.

Are they not healers

of earthly souls?

Some say a magic far

greater than desire.

Would they not remind us

to hold a warm child tight,

the beloved other

to touch in the night?

A soft pillar of persuasion,

serving tea

and sacrifice.

Extra Longer

5 Nov

 

 

Things I hope you will love
extra longer:

Sitting in dark velvet quiet,
popcornpeeringready,
another world flickering and blue in front of you
both hand in hand,
remember the feel of rough fingers
like the bended fold
of a thick linen envelope.
Entwined arm in arm,
save the date of the moment and
linger longer
than you might,
one moment maybe
just for me.

When the shower
cascades in percussive rounds
like a trembling cahone
off the rock of his beloved body,
listen a little longer
to water
singing the curve
of a road often traveled
by your once hot heart.
Catch the last note of the
stream like the intoning bell
calling All to notice. . .
notice,
notice,
this moment,
each one your gift.

Gather one drop of water,
for me.

By the nape of his neck,
let your eyes fall like autumn shadow
over the dark slope
of tender openness.

Let your view drape across
muscle bending toward the heat of collar
and brave bone.
Lean in.
Place your mouth there
extra longer,
tasting the gratitude in sweatmaking.
Roll onto a nightslept pillow
full of scent and salted musk,
breath him
in like a Second Coming.
He’ll return.
He always does.
Have you noticed,
not?

So when your hand finds the moss
covered cage of sinew and heart beat beneath,
listen a little longer
for the rest of us;
our longing hovers above you

like a haint blue porch ceiling
whispering,
whispering,
Don’t you dare forget a miracle.
Cause you carry dreampromise
in your limbs and loving
like an autumn wind

warning the fury of frost
and lost leaves.

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