Yes, I suppose I’ve stayed in bed too long,
till noon,
tangling myself between sheets,
roaming the untouched corners of my mind
while my head is held comforted
by pillows.
It’s the only way,
these lazy Saturdays,
while the white noise of neighbors’ water runs
and planes of busy people
fly high above me.
At the peak of daytime,
I am only just beginning;
better that I make this transition
slowly,
than rush myself through
taking note of nothing.
Run along without me.
Let me savor sleep
and hold myself
in the quietness of simply being.
Poem : The Movement
I’ve never been able to cartwheel.
Even as a kid.
But since everything in my life is changing,
Upside down and backwards to how
I thought I would feel,
I figure,
I should do things differently.
Make changes.
Try, for once, to feel triumphant,
exuberant,
because
YES!
I did it!
I’ll stretch my body out.
Reach my hands to the firm ground.
Let my feet feel the wind,
the free-flowing sky.
Let my stomach muscles loosen
and my belly-button see daylight.
Because I am capable of movement.
I am capable of being moved.
Poem: For the Apple
For the Apple.
I delight in the crispness of an apple,
my lips wrapped around smooth skin
and pure, sweet flesh
broke open between my teeth.
To hold it in my hand,
the weight of it reminds me,
the gleam of green skin reminds me
of growth
of goodness
of briskness and autumn
of contentment
in the order and seasons of things.
Sun
and rain
and leaves of trees
then blossoms bursting to this new thing,
this sweet new thing,
ready for the picking,
for the plucking,
for the grip of my fingers,
for my lips on its skin
for my delight in this gritty, delicious
nectar of nature
and newness of life.
In one sweet moment,
I hold goodness in the grip of my hand.
Poem: The Return.
I’m returning to days now -
Monday
I think in grief, to return to simplicity is the only way to seek restoration, to find healing, to cope, to comfort one another.
The sound of your loved one’s steady breath,
a clock as it flicks mutely in the dark,
a bed that is our own.