Trudging

 

Doesn't do any good

Woke up like a giant fry pan   

Smacked my whole body.

Holy Spirit pushed me out of bed.

Got up, made jasmine tea, drank it.

Made oatmeal, salt, milk, banana, 

Cinnamon, nutmeg; ate it.

Did dishes, some other stuff,

Sat on the porch with Ron, 

Couldn't remember what to talk about.

Prayed together on the porch.

Read Matthew 7:21, John 6:29, 6:40. 

Was ok for a while, but it still hurt.

Couldn't shake it. Talked to a friend.

Ate an apple, peanut butter, 

Lettuce, turkey, and swiss cheese.

Went to the beach. It was beautiful. 

Was preoccupied, so was Ron.

Went home, sat in the back yard. 

It was so nice out. I could hear

People talking and laughing.

Read a little, looked at the sky, slept.

Groaned all day in my spirit,

Hoping for this to end.  

It will be well, but when.

Woke up, ate dinner, mostly butter. 

Boys were there. Cleaned up. Everyone left. 

Tried to color with my new crayons.

Had a bowl of cocoa pebbles,  

Peanut butter and chocolate chips,

Threw most of it in the garbage,

Because my friend is dying,

And nothing can make me

Feel better about that right now.

The Girls Came to Town

 

Rita

    

Purple velvet eyes.

Radiant flower beam smile.

Open handed heart. 

Grief 

Words drop with dull thuds,

not howls like Daniel's guitar—  

Electric lament.

Ice Cream Shoppe

Frozen cream and time

Flavored by dear company,

Each her own sweetness.

A Hill to Die On

A Serious Matter

On top of a dirt

hill, set in a field of weeds,

a block from my house,

I would talk to God.

I asked for signs—birds flying—   

one for yes, two no.

I was a young teen,

and knew it was stupid, but

what else could I do?

If I had stopped there, 

because I didn't believe

the birds were answers,

Or no birds came, or

the wrong number flew past, but...

I didn't give up.

For years I prayed, not

on that hill—they knocked it down—         

where I went, I prayed.

I just talked to God.

Then my boyfriend overdosed.

I cried on my knees.

I cried out for hours,

it seemed, and then God answered.

Peace overcame me.

I knew Scott was healed.

I was in another state,

I was miles away—   

When I got back home,

I found that God had indeed

healed Scott, answered me.

That was long ago.

It really happened, but it

was just a beginning.   

Don't stop seeking God.

He answers all the time now.

I had to not quit.

New House, Old Stuff

 

Tables and Chairs

Cute little tables.

Adaptable, charming—tiled,    

Iron and wicker,

Wood, maybe painted.

Creating nooks through the house,

Cozying it up.

Sometimes bested by

Irresistable little

Adorable chairs.

Black and White Dogs

The man down the street's

floppy-eared black and white dog

recently passed on.

This man lives alone.

The dog was his true best friend.

We just moved here,

Don't know the dog's name,

but I do know the sadness

of losing a dog.

Out walking today,

I saw another old man

walking his old dog,

Black, white, floppy-eared.

I thought of my new neighbor,

and his fresh, raw grief.

Too Many Cooks

Moved to an old house

With a congested kitchen.

I painted it orange.

I cluttered it up,

Put my little ceramic 

Rooster on the sill—  

A pepper shaker.

The hen, a salt shaker, went 

To the resale shop

A few years ago, 

The rooster being long lost...

Found, under the stove.

Unintended Sandwich

 

Bulk Trash Day

Stealthy dog walkers

Slyly comb precarious 

Piles with keen eyes—   

Or flashlights at night.

Secrecy's part of the game,

Not embarrassment.

Taking or leaving,

We pass things round and around

Like kids trade their toys.

How Precious Is a Good Spouse

Always a best friend.

True respected challenger,

Eventually. 

Trainer in patience.

Sharer of discoveries.

One to encourage.

Trusted counselor.

Reader of needs unspoken,

Giver of smiles.

Fat Raccoon

He would be cuter

If he were a porcupine.

Sly, thieving varmint.

Waddles the parkways

Bulk trash eve—his holiday

Of disappointment.

Mountains of garbage

Inedible. No fish scraps,

Not one rotting treat.

Triptych

 

Christopher

 

Once I sensed

in a vision

the crushing

of precious

herbs and spices.

Thick aroma

of deep mystery— 

velvety, golden,

earthy, compelling.

Ancient, pitying,

present, listening,

singular, healing,

perfect Love.

Curiosity

Wood overwhelms me.

Listen—lines whisper language— 

Messages unheard.

Woodcut

I have an old card

to my Uncle Chris from friends,

an encouragement.

Colored woodcut words,

rough pictures of a chalice

and a lamb, and more...

A prized possession

that reminds me of his faith,

which he shared with me.