Posts for June 27, 2017 (page 3)

a random act of kindness

an extra mile

a heartfelt apology

forgiveness

a promise kept

a chance encounter

a place met

not just talked about

a glimmer of hope

a seed planted

an adored host

the ensuing blessings

a random message sent

a genuine smile

just one of these

can be any

and any

can be all

Sunshine hits the dustpan, clean and pure.
All things consumed by fusion come to us,
in other worlds, to nurture and illuminate.
My friend whose heart has stopped
reminds us that we live in waves,
pulling long and deeply from the bottom
to land, crescendo, bringing gifts.  

This may be sorrow stinging, but also
celebration. This is where we live,
ignoring the detritus for the windows,
open doors. She is with the world.
My chest aches, a sharp jab under
my left breast. This is the stage
we cross and pause, remembering.    

June 27, 2017

She lived for outrageuos acts-
acts to keep all eyes on her.
Grappling for attention
in unlikely places.

And celebrating when her secrets
were shared.

Hated and adored for being a whore,
but being an angel all the same.

Fascinating to watch swirl around
like pieces of paper in front of a fan.

In the dome the women
come and go and speak
of fruit hanging
from the bough
of a twisted tree
the color of red clay.
It bends down to yield
jade pear     pearly peach
mahogany grapes.
Around its pebbled path
flowers spiral blue
shells spin lace
and night pushes against
the dome in waves
with bright clouds
trailing behind
like wisps of ivy.
The stars come riding
shards of their own
light.  

You called me a mama bear
but I laughed.
I am much more a mother wolf:

If you hurt him
I will track you over miles

I could not wear a moment like a charm
around my neck or wrist.
Jewelry hampers movement, draws attention to itself,
jangling like so much bric-a-brac.
And what if I lose the horseshoe trinket from years ago?
And what would I do when the bracelet ran out of room?
No dangling adornments will weigh me down.
I shift my wedding band from hand
to hand, giving each finger a brief relief.
I remove earrings before sleep,
my dreams buoyed by unseen memories
and lucky moments to come.

The first day of summer
was a week ago but
when we find out our two-year-old 
has something wrong with his teeth
I think of him that night
seeing lightning bugs for the first time
fingers outstretched, eyes full of glee
before he smashes them
between a chubby finger and thumb.

When I have to go to the doctor
for the third time in as many weeks
I think of our oldest that night
feeding a bonfire for the first time
running all over the yard to gather sticks and
watching the smoke and flame as it rises up 
before he runs out to find more.

When we’re threatened with eviction
I think of you that night
there with me for all the firsts
on the longest day
the shortest night
and how
so much
is still glowing.

Shrivelled and thin, in a pleated plastic bonnet
and out-of-date rain coat, she stepped out.
The edges of the sky gleamed.  Inside her house  
it was dim.  The lidless eye of his watch still lay
stopped on the bedside table.  The February
wind caught at her and without meaning to
she sat down on the low wall beside the walk.
A bird lit on the streaked pavement nearby,
grey skirted, stick legged, like her, seeking
something in the spilled day and uncertainty of dusk.

I’ve always been Daddy’s girl.
Yet,
when my mother left two years after him,
I felt
I had been Mom’s girl, too.  

Now,
what happens between my parents and me
is this:
Dad sends me cats
and Mom sends me angels.  

Each time I feel happy
I know Daddy shares my joy –
there is always a cat
popping up from nowhere
(Dad knows I’ll never neglect a cat,
and he sure knows
how to make an appearance, doesn’t he).  

At times when I feel insecure,
unsure,
weak and unattractive,
when I totally lack my self-confidence,
there appears no cat, obviously.
And this is when Mom’s angels step in:    
a teenage girl who’d tell me I am pretty,
a teenage boy who’d solve a problem of mine,
an old lady who’d compliment me on my outfit,
an old man  who’d give me advice.
Then I know
Mom is watching
and as long as she watches over me
I’ll be safe,
and young,
and beautiful,
and loved,
and all my problems will be solved,
sooner or later.  

I often wonder if Mom and Dad met up there,
as I am wondering today,
on their wedding anniversary,
walking sadly in the park…  

Hey, look at you!,
I hear a thin voice say,
Are you a Fairy?  

As I look up,
I see a little girl
sitting on a bench,
all smiles,
holding a big cat in her arms.
You are so beautiful!,
she exclaims happily.  

Now I finally know
about Mom and Dad.

               Zlatna Kostova

there was that one time
when that guy spilled the coins from his pocket
and even through the loud music
even in the dark
i found the coins 
because they sang to me
and later your fingers
painted me in colors that have yet to be named
sweet like candy coated sundrops
and every touch echoed
into the dark room creating tiny stars
that danced on our skin 
like music that was waiting to be created
from instruments not yet imagined