Poem: Saturday

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
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

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,
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. 

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 -


A natural order of things. 

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.