See what you made me do.
your errors
your mistakes
your blunders
led to your explosions
at me
Relationships
Time Descending
I flung my arms out wide
to feel the wind
that sun baked day
danced, skirt billowing
cool sand between my toes
I stretched my arms out wide
to erase the fear
eyes locked on yours
step by first step, second, third
you chortled, giggling towards me
I curved my arms out wide
to envelop your leaving self
joyful sad, then turned and watched
the airport swallow you
emptiness descending
I raise these arms
tissue thin sagging skin
eyes search yours
name descending
shawl droops down legs
dancing somewhere
a thin filament
within this brain
disappearing into mist
You Are Me or Am I You?
The glass is clean today
and we are quiet on either side.
One hand at rest,
age lines etched in black skin
fingers curled.
Mom sits closely by, always watching.
Her babe with impish chatter,
swings away
quickly scampers home
safely tucked inside those long warm arms.
You sit, eyes not meeting mine,
lips pursed, a sadness to your face.
Which of us, in this family,
is behind the glass,
and which of us in front?
Where does this zoo begin,
and where does it really end?
Photos from our visit last year to San Diego Zoo. Post in response to Daily Post Photo Challenge: Connected.
…and Your Son Shall Leave You…
I was alone, but for a moment
amidst pealing bells.
Suddenly you were there
tear streaked face buried in my chest.
Memory flash of newborn nestled into me.
And then you were gone
dancing joyfully,
her white veil trailing on your arm.
Spent
She sat with the counselor
and tried to explain
to divulge in words
what had not been said
for too many years.
Over-size
dime-store dark glasses
hid the terror trail
as she sat, tense
alert, waiting.
Hands clasped in lap
hid fingernails
chewed to nothingness
feet pressed on floor, heels together
knees together too.
A posture learned
to pull in, retreat
be small
in the smallest
amount of space.
She flinched
as he leaned in
and so he adjusted
settled back in the chair
to listen with his eyes.
And finally
she answered
slowly
each word mumbled
yet distinct.
I feel like
a sandwich cookie
pryed open
pulled apart
licked raw
and gnawed upon
crumb by crumb
and now
I am totally consumed.
The Visit
The house is quiet again
all things-children put away.
If I close my eyes
I can hear their laughter echo,
see small bodies
clambering on to youth chairs.
Stillness surrounds me
memories sustain me.
Families, and time
move on.
Toys packed away until another time.
….and the Desolate Shall Not See
Night comes earlier to the dark of soul.
Blind to the stars
the universe appears as India ink
dripped from the Master’s quill,
one unending amorphous black blot
across the everywhere sky.
Calligraphy Girl
Penciled eyebrows arched in surprise
bright red lips and stiletto heels
short white gloves like her mother wore
and always a billowing skirt,
crinolines attached for extra flounce.
She struts through life to decorate the scene
takes center stage to raucous applause.
Shoes come off, skirt removed
she twirls it above her head
three loops, then let sail
caught by the lucky wide-eyed man
sitting in a front row seat.
Each movement choreographed
her legs curve round the rope.
She ascends high and higher still
seeks the spotlight’s heat,
craves this life,
to dangle and curl
high above the circus floor.
Tell Me Do; Tell Me You
She grew up in a poker face house
curtains drawn, emotions stuffed
inside walls, inside heads, inside everywhere.
Except anger. Sometimes it came flying out.
After a lull. Unexpected.
So loud, it shook the rafters.
No wonder she flew the coop,
using that old vernacular.
Married, with kids, she broke the mold.
Babies babbled, inside and out
sometimes screamed, mouths wide open
no plugs, pacies or binkes allowed.
I love yous and table talk
campfire banter, tell me true
talk it through to eyes that listen.
She insisted on a barcode kind of world
emotions easily scanned
on an every day conveyor belt.
Spring Chill
She wandered outside this early morn
stunned to be alone
last night’s storm, still wet upon the lawn.
She walked the garden
unaware that wisps of cloud
accompanied her overhead.
Reaching out,
she cupped the tulip crown
within her saddened hand
and watched, as petals dislodged,
weighed down with rain,
fell slowly to the ground.
Feet damp and cold,
she sat in one of two chairs
on the cement slab they called a patio.
Eyes pressed shut, face tilted to the sky
she felt the sun, breathed in the lilac scent
and finally understood.
lillian the home poet 