Blindfolded with a tube of blood.
I tried to glue the seemingly broken pieces back together.
It made me sick to my stomach.
Pale as the moon in the night sky,
with my heart burned by the afternoon sun.
Dehydrated and slowly dying,
thinking things would never change for the better.
22 months
95 weeks
669 days
Time teaches you valuable lessons.
I stopped waiting for you.
The funny thing about damaged people,
is that you love them even more knowing they’re not perfect.
My beautiful China doll never broke,
he was only picking up some glue to repair himself.
I recovered, and so did he.
Science says it takes about 200 hours
Being together with someone
To become a true friend
Some books are hard to let go
Friends left on a shelf
For so many years
Old shoes have served so well
Walking companions weathered through time
Yet their tongues cannot talk
Reach out to another
At any store
In line at the P.O.
In a minute or two
One common theme
Makes an instant 200 hour friend
Many thanks to all my new and yet to be new friends on Lexpomo. This is such a great place to be… and craft our written work. Keep the candle lit and take care all!
Strong
as a full-grown bull
no flaccid flesh only bulge
through loose fitting pants & t-shirts
spoons and fork handles bend
when he touches them even tines bow
like I do to keep things smooth
he bends over in the garden
pulls weeds yet never bends
to pick up a mess on an indoor floor
unyielding to wishful begs
to quit maligning utensils
I hide a few for me to use
but if I forget he’ll make sure
I know he used my fork and spoon
by bending them too
Thick, low
lines of
cumulus clouds
migrate north,
each billow
at a
steady pace.
Thicker white
above remains
still, calm—
like our
June days,
varying forecasts
across our
bluegrass state.
We now
continue on
into hopeful
goldenrod tomorrows,
to join
together again
next time.
Til then,
we bid
one another
a fond
adieu.
I meant to play
With words each day
Organizing them with rhyme and line
I meant to enter
A poem each day
Carefully typing and spacing
Instead I played
Riding horses in Wyoming
Driving there and back between the lines
Instead I connected
With family and friends
Who live in different places and spaces
Instead my life
Became the poem
That reflects my time and my rhythm
I’m eight,
and this may be my favorite number,
I think to myself.
My maternal grandma knocks
on the door of the bathroom,
“Sweetie, come along; we’ll be late.”
At twenty-eight,
I became a naturalized US citizen.
Eight months later
my mom received her green card.
After eight weeks of planning and packing,
to visit my sweet nana in the upcoming summer,
it will be nearly eighteen years
for mom since she last saw her mother…
But then, we receive the news:
“Your grandma has passed away; I’m sorry.”
I freeze.
Everything grows unmoving and quiet,
like the Dead Sea, in which
I was floating only last year
at this time of the year.
After a moment of quiet stillness,
the salty tears come pouring out of my eyes,
enough to form two more seas.
Eight is now my least favorite number.
Anything can be holy when you believe nothing is. Anyone can be a saint when you dream only of devils. Did you know they built an entire city on top of decay and pretended it was a resurrection? The city is a lighthouse, but the lighthouse keeper is a liar. Pilgrims follow the beacon like moths to a flame. When they sing their songs they spit on their neighbors. At dinner, they pass on the wine. It’s not red enough. Mary once had a premonition, but nobody believed her until it came true. By then, it was too late. I went into the confessional and heard my own voice on the other side. I don’t know if that means I’m forgiven or not. Michaelangelo painted for four years straight just for people to look past the focal point. Someone told me he painted while he was upside down. They killed Peter upside down, you know. All the blood rushed to his head. They took John’s. No one knows what happened to the eyes. And somehow, they can make anyone a believer in any cathedral if you would just look up.
When I was 3 ~ I wished I’d wear the crown so when Aunty and I went on stage I’d be the little girl with all the glitter . . .
When I was 4 ~ I wished everyone happiness especially my Fairy Godmother . . . I wished for a sister and she came . . .
When I was 8 ~ I wished I wouldn’t die because of all the great big welts that were covering my body, closing my eyes, making it hard to breathe . . . I wanted to walk myself to the potty . . . I wanted to go out and play with all the other kids I heard playing outside my darkened window . . .
When I was 10 ~ I wished so very hard to get my own piano, learn how to read sheet music like I read my Nancy Drew mysteries . . . play with both hands . . . sing old time torch songs . . . and play hard classical pieces . . . to fill our small duplex with lots of song . . . And I wished to give my very tired truck-driving father something to look forward to after his 12-hour days . . . so my little sister and I sang and danced in our Show Time skits . . .
When I was 12 ~ I wished to be a synchronized swimmer . . . be on a swim team . . . wear pretty costumes . . . do underwater stunts . . . dive off the high dive . . . dance to the music of 76 Trombones & Waltz of the Snowflakes . . . glide like a swan on the water and smile like Esther Williams with painted on make-up . . .
When I was 18 ~ I was the girl who got the banner and the crown . . . and wore the title for a year . . .
When I was 42 ~ I wished with all my friends and family at my Great Big Happy Birthday Party we prayed with whole heart & soul that my past year of chemo, radiation & surgery had successfully eradicated the breast cancer and finally I was free to walk forward to love and serve . . .
I am grateful this wish has come true . . . granted the privilege to light 75 candles this past June in the middle of my LexPoMo journey . . . thank you fellow poets for fueling my forward dance . . .!
