Wednesday, November 22, 2017

Gap of Stillness

There is a gap between the trees
That fills with light
Each day
As I walk my girls on familiar path, through the forest
Like an open window
Nestled above a bench, facing the stream
Where I used to stop and sit
Each day
No matter the season
Through trees bearing leaves,
And branches turn barren
I would sit in communion with the light shining through.

For many months I couldn't,
Or wouldn't
Stop to sit
I felt the light come through as I walked on by
Like an old friend reaching down
Tapping my shoulder,
Asking me to stay a while
"No time to stop"
I'd say to no one in particular
Pushing past
Hurrying the curious noses of my two babies
Urgently moving,
"Just keep moving"

But today as my friend called again,
Tapping on my shoulder like she always does
I sat
And I felt the warmth of the sun shine on my face
Kissing me in gratitude
For stopping by
Looking up I saw the clear blue sky
Shine 'round what's left of the leaves,
Shimmering in brilliant shades of yellow
And I heard the crunch of fallen sister leaves,
Brown and dried, rustling under nearby paws
I felt the gentle tug of two leashes on my wrist
Trying to pull me on,
And that fearful voice in my head kept whispering,
"Just keep moving"

But I stayed a bit longer
Soaking up the goodness of the light filled gap.
Realizing by rushing past to numb
Grief and fear and pain
I had misplaced my gap of stillness
To feel
Joy and light and peace

Sunday, March 19, 2017

Emptiness into Shadow

Fast moving clouds
leave light
shifting shapes
on bare bedroom walls
turning emptiness into shadow
and back again

What is grief?
I could give an answer
of what I thought it was
of what you’d expect it to be
How do you describe
the intangible  
when words you thought you knew
are now simply letters arranged
on blank pages

When light disappears
for too long at once
the vast space
seems to swallow me whole
and my breath
needs reminding
of its natural steady pattern
coaxed in
sweet-talked out

But clouds keep shifting
and light continues to find
its peculiar way through

Monday, March 6, 2017

Oklahoma Wind

That Oklahoma wind came to visit me today
-strong invisible power-  
I sat and watched as it guided 
tall grasses and young trees
I sat and watched as it helped them discover
their own unique ways 
to bend and bow

I felt that Oklahoma wind
as it kissed my cheeks,
and ran gentle fingers through my hair
and I knew she was here
singing sweetly,
‘Amelia Claire, I love your hair’

Eyes closed, that Oklahoma wind 
swept me back home
and my tears became
film projections 
of near forgotten memories
when white eyelet lace curtains
danced between open windows,
and cornflower blue bedroom walls

And so I sat and watched,
as she sang to me
soft and steady,

drawing fingers through my hair

Thursday, February 23, 2017

sacred ground

Walking in the forest
I see one after another; 
tiny dew drops resting on young leaves 
They collect and share light
like soft fleeting diamonds 
Viridescent moss crawls up the deep saturated trees, 
encircling their trunks 
like delicate lace hems 
Tender white petals sprinkled down the trail, 
are commingling with fallen foliage 
of seasons past
Scattered further and further from their source, 
they bring their message with them: 
Spring is here
My puppy's curious nose follows a small purple butterfly,
 no bigger than my thumbnail, 
as it flutters low 'round the ivy 
 She watches from a distance, 
seeming to sense its magic 

Wandering along the creek
I start to weep 
My tears fall below me 
like salty sea cousins of the fresh morning dew,
 gritty and rugged as they splash the ground 
How does the dew form in perfect round droplets? 
My grieving pauses in a moment of thanksgiving
for this beauty surrounding my feet
Though my head hangs heavy 
I am soothed by this sacred ground 
that receives my weight
one step at a time.

Saturday, February 11, 2017

no words

Today marks one month since I left ATL and arrived in Oklahoma.
It has been 31 days since my grandmother Celia passed away.
It has been 26 days since my great Aunt Jan passed away.
It has been 23 days since I called an ambulance to take my mother to the ER, and on to ICU.
And it has been 5 cloudy, heart wrenching, sporadic uncontrollable sobbing days since I watched my mother take her last breath.

This is all still so raw and so very very sad that words like 'sad' seem to have lost their meaning. I still don't really know what is happening. And don't know how long this feeling will sit heavy on my chest, making it hard to breathe.
But I do know that my mother and the generations of strong women before her, two of whom we also just lost, have raised my sister and I to be strong and adventurous and loving women. And I feel that in my blood and my bones, even as it's hard to move and speak. I am forever grateful for the powerful village of amazing people my mother stitched together like a beautiful warm quilt, now wrapped around Carrie and I. This will take time, but we will be ok. Love you all. Miss you with all my heart, Mama.