hands

we walked
those trails
through the four seasons
blues and greens of summer
giving way to rust of fall
grey of winter
and back again

inside this
for two months
my father lay dying
fading under morphine

and then for almost a year
beyond my father's passing
my mother's husband gone
we walked
when chance arose
while my mother's consciousness shifted to the other side

another trail
gathering beach flowers to dry
multitudes of bright greens and purples
growing between smooth round grey stones
handfuls of flowers
from hands that had
baked
and cleaned
and gardened
and cooked and sewn
crocheted and mended
knit and untangled
smoothed and soothed
held
petted
dressed
they gathered now these gifts for me
these beach flowers
to dry

"thank you" I said as they fell into the bag
"you're making me feel useful…." she said

language of song

the breath and memory of song
were starting to go
language of song
silent after all these years
no other time
when she didn't sing

only air now

sharing a pillow just to hear
her breath
only air now

no more songs

words so rare

the air had been full of songs
upon our rising
we knew the world
was still turning
happy, sad, scared  song  song  song
the thread of our youth

radio blaring
washer singing
bread rising
floors shining
soup sizzling
cold nights
summer heat
songs just filled our ears

the last song

"Show me the way to go home
I'm tired and I want to go to bed
had a little drink about an hour ago
and it went right to my head"

the verse came so easily complete with
theatrical hiccups
midnight
shared bed
hysterical laughter
the last song
she sang to me

"you have to laugh when you can" she said

water for tears

where does the water for tears
come from?
torn from cells and forced out
through the eye
no wonder crying hurts so much

when will this end
when will this end
please
not yet

be ok for just another moment
laugh and sing to me
pick some flowers
breath in the morning
infect me with your love of living
hold me close
take me with you
to the land of no pain
the land of I am your daughter
and you are my mom

this place hurts too much
I will split in half
I will explode
the pain of grief will take me under
doubled over in the kitchen, tears
salty tears, will I ever stand straight again?
to face that vision
of bones, to release my hold
on this fragment
what remains of you

so soft the whisper

so soft the whisper
a breath
a sigh
patterns in the sand
a warm breath
blue sky
blue mountains of sea
silver sigh
sand
whispers in wind
drifting breath
mountains of sky
wistful breath
mountains of sighs
silver clouds
come home,
come home
so soft the whisper

I am that form of a seer

in the midst of migraines I have

often experienced states of 

euphoria

in my worst pain I have

experienced profound joy

in such a paradox one day I

thought

"I know nothing,

I don't get it, 

I know absolutely nothing"

And then I heard a chorus of voices

sounding not unkind and rather joyous

saying

"now she sees"

We live in a world of pain and of joy

I am amazed by the transcendence of the human 

spirit and dismayed by the 

violence of our evolution.

We seem to live in a world of 

both heaven and hell.

Yin and Yang

motion and stillness

opposites that are a part of each 

other

I don't get it

I no longer expect to

but it is fun to try

I am that form of a seer