coconut oil smells
strong and soft on my dry hands
summer on my skin
Thursday, July 21, 2022
Friday, April 8, 2022
God our Shelter
God our Shelter
left his home
to dwell with every beast
no roof his own
no pillow, either
yet see how they're kept
safe beneath pinions
safe, on his breast
Haiku for Matt, final version
The crack in your voice
When I asked if you were well
Says I'm not alone
The Garden, in Part, draft no. 9*
In the evening
I walked by the garden
the old couple had tilled
on the corner of Jordan
and Highview
and wept.
Would that the garden
we had made
had been like that one.
It feels too late to start
growing. The soil
is clay and tears
the only water.
There's been much talk
about how parents ought
to bless their children;
I never dreamed
how much I'd need
my children
to bless me.
The children are old enough
to get married themselves now
and, post-covid,
banished to---not from
--the gardens
Here, when I look out at them
through my kitchen window
supple-skinned,
splayed out on the lawn
moving their day
from church to tent
and back again,
I'm in turns hopeful
and ashamed
and proud
their garden will be much richer
and more fragrant than mine.
They are tending it
so well, down to the very
ordering of their seeds.
Plans have been changing
these days--
But the weddings still go on
More people or less.
More space or less.
More risk or less.
The love,
it goes on, too,
more or ...
more.
* * *
When night falls, the fireflies
with their defiant blinking
the improbable fireflies
find their glow mates
in the garden's reeds.
The Lord's blessings be upon you,
My precious, rare fireflies.
Love,
Mom
*Poem title taken from an abstract painting I own by artist Kelly Kruse.
Sunday, April 3, 2022
Renovations
Hear, in quiet McCosh
A straightened stair sighing for
Students' carving weight
Published in the class of '92 notes, March 2021 edition of the PAW.
Robin's Nest
A good empty
Free
Finding their wings
Just like me.
(Insert photo of empty robin's nest here).
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