Progression

She denied when first informed.

When she heard the girl was sick ~ and always would be.

“Not my daughter.”

“She’s brilliant. We prize that.”

~

She raged as illness unfolded.

Living the day-in, the day-out, fearing dreams would never come about.

“This is not our life!”

She had such plans. She cherished them. She clung.

~

She trembled when the crazy bubbled up.

When her fear, fueled by helplessness, boiled on over with it.

She’d always had control.

That’s how she lived.  She controlled.

~

She prayed when hope refused to settle in.

When getting through a day sans crisis was success.

“God can do miracles.”

“We need one. I’ll do whatever it takes.” She begged.

~

She mourned as miracles failed to manifest.

When she knew the girl was sick and always would be.

When she knew her mind was truly ill.

She, they, so prized it.

time

She loved when they spent time together.

When the girl chose to live and she chose to live beside her.

When she knew their plans had changed, but that the change was right and good.

They would move on. They would be well.

~

And now.

They rejoice.

She is ill, but lives, stays, well.

Lives, loves, learns. Well.

And ~ blessed be ~ brilliance, bravery, beauty ~ accompany.

They, too, are here to stay.

Intimate Breeze

breeze

Windows open,

The breeze glides in,

Lapping at my skin,

Reminding of delicious times gone by.

~

Eyes closed,

I relish the moment.

The air glides, gently caressing neck, cheek,

Moving into memory.

~

How firmly connected, memory and heart.

Encouraging the other to love and love and love

Based on a shared past filled with moments

Of which no one else is privy.

~

Shared memories. Shared hearts.

Is there such a thing?

Oh, yes!

We agreed upon exactly that, lifetimes ago.

~

And now we live it.

And all it takes is an evening breeze

To remind me

Of the rightness of that choice.

Raising ‘Em Up

Mother-Child-Klimt-L

Early on, one yearns for it ~

The chance to be alone,

Responsible

For only oneself.

Then, when opportunities arise

Enjoyment of separation?

Near impossible!

The invisible ties?

They bind.

~

Slowly,

O’er years

A distance, comfortable, grows wider.

‘Out of sight,’ somewhat acceptable,

For a little while, at least.

But as a day wears on,

Heartstrings tug.

And reunion comforts, Strengthening the ties.

~

Later,

Times apart expand

Enfolding days or even weeks.

But a sense of right is fragile

‘Til communion comes again,

The common threads more tightly knit, but subtly drape and flow.

~

Ultimately,

Success.

Independence.

Directions deviate.

Occasional convergence, is the norm

And the brief little whiles seem right.

Days spent together bring joy.

Those invisible ties woven into a loving comfort-cloth,

Growing ever more precious over time.

One In a Long Line

I AM One

In a long line of poets.

~

My grandmother,

Now ninety-eight,

Spent lifetime writing about her God.

She writes about how “He Lives!”

And how “Great He Is.”

How he offers up chocolate when hunger gnaws,

And a ten dollar bill when there is nothing.

He is her Master as well as her Salvation.

Her Source, her Solace, her sole Inspiration.

~

My mother,

Much younger,

Spent days scattered through years writing about her life.

She writes about love and children

And how great they are.

How they offer up a busy day when depression threatens,

And hope, when there is none.

They are her Challenge as well as her Comfort.

Her Dreams, her Accomplishments, her Future.

~

My daughter,

Much younger still,

Spent hours writing about this world and its inequities.

She writes about joy and despair

And how they affect reality‘s perception.

How they roam through her life with a life of their own,

Leaving impressions as reminders of what has been endured.

They are her Teachers as well as her Nemeses

Her Motivators, her Fears, her Companions.

~

I,

Marking my age near the middle,

Spend hours, days, weeks, writing about them all.

I write about lessons learned and connections made,

And how they nurture growth.

How they forge the way back to God,

Creating opportunities to correct mistakes and try again.

They are my Source, my Dreams, and my Motivation.

~

Together,

We write the vital, the real,

Telling a history (herstory) of divine women,

Each doing her best, in her own way,

To figure it out and move forward.

Retreat

Do you go there?

When you cannot be with me?

Do you seek fulfillment

In that place I cannot see?

Is your other world

A better place to be?

Go, then.

But always,

Be.