Yep, felt a bit spunky when I wrote this. But don’t we all know people who, through our eyes, their kindness fades or we see something in their character that we can no longer tolerate? We get to choose our friends, our partners. If our relationship with them causes us to feel emotionally damaged, we also get to unchoose them. Cool, huh? Easy? Not always. Still, life is short and we all deserve to be treated with kindness and respect. Because that’s what we give, right?
If you stay on one side
and I the other
how will I know the color of your eyes
what tune your voice plays when your words lilt into the air?
How will I know if humor is one of your senses
or if the shoes you wear have traveled far?
I want to know what made you grow
and what kept you stagnant
what made you smile
and what made you weep
If you stay on one side
and I the other
how would I ever be
enlightened?
She believed there were only pros to fusing things together
the bricks to build her house
the quilts to keep her grandchildren warm
the neighbors at the parties she threw
She was a pro at fusing things.
Nothing came apart.
Nothing tore.
Nothing fell.
No one was left out.
And all because she was generous with her love,
plentiful in her resources,
abounding with energy.
In all these things, she was profuse
never lacking
seldom flawed
and never felt defective.
In her wrinkled, aging hands
she held the world together.
I want to be like her when I grow up.
Image one credit
Image two credit
via Profuse
Entertain me with your laughter
not your bravado
dance for me a jig
and smile when I join you
Extend your hand
and walk me across the water
into a field of wild flowers
Run without thought
to catch my hat from the breeze
Talk to me of topics peaceful
and fill me with stories of compassion
Take me to your favorite place
and share with me the secrets inside
Remove the metal around your chest
to show me the softness within.
And I will shelter you from the storm.
photo credit
via Entertain
My legs move fast
my feet still remember
Mama ran away.
The Charleston ends
my feet, still
I plunk a new recording on Victor Victrola
plant the needle in the grove
turn the crank.
My feet move again
green and yellow squares of rug
melt together
I spin, braid pinging from one shoulder
to the next
like two different suitors
tapping my shoulder
asking to be my dance partner.
Like a wild mushroom,
my skirt puffs
the swoosh of movement says,
“Everything will be alright again.”
I squint to believe.
photo credit
via Mushroom
She’s here. Now.
No need to check on me.
Go home, Miss Helen,
moonshine maker.
Miss Helen
two crackers shy of a box
hair colored orange (she thinks is red)
pokes out on the ends like soggy cactus needles
unless she’s driving Roadster
pulls red tam pulled tight over head
big bosoms poke steering wheel
with hands clutched tight
elbows poking out on both sides
Peers through windshield
wearing aviator goggles.
She’s here. Now.
No need to check on me.
Go home, Miss Helen,
moonshine maker.
Beats her gums about town folk –
“Saw Betty at the Five and Dime…”
“Oh, Lordy, the dentist, he’s …”
I stop listening
Think of something else.
Oh, Lordy.
She slaps and fluffs a couch pillow.
Dust bunnies flit around her orange hair.
Don’t lay down! Don’t lay down.
Go home, Miss Helen.
moonshine maker
My house, too small
for two crackers.
photo credit
daily word prompt: fluff
I remember this, my last conversation with Papa.
He, trying to alleviate our pain.
But I heard, through his bravado
the saddened beat of my heart
submerged in deep water
no knowledge of how to stay afloat
grief no words could express
He said,
“Remember the sandhill crane?”
How could I forget?
Long necks
the sound of their rattle calls
broad wings flying over
ancestral farmland
He said,
“She’s like the hourglass that drips the sand of time
replenishes herself by picking leftovers from the field
She keeps moving forward.
She never stops.
She is you
and she is me.
Our fields, too deep to forget
Too vast to go away.
I will never truly leave you”
“Is this the way of things, Papa?”
“Ja, mein liebes.”
“It is,” he smiled.
Prose adapted from my novel, “Naked, She Lies”
Photo credit
Do you wrap your shoulders in guilt?
Does it make you feel better?
Of course not.
You did what you did, but the moment has passed.
Perhaps it is regret that you are feeling.
Regret is better. It means you have taken that nugget,
examined it with neutral hands
and learned from it.
So, you wash your hands with compassionate soap
and remind yourself that you are not a fraud
but a human flawed
like everyone else.
Be brave and accept
being flawed only adds to your perfection.
Carolyn Dennis-Willingham 