The Hold of Time

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On the balcony, overlooking the sea, inside of time,

they drank their tea.  Blessed by orange and gold,

the sun set slowly, holding every moment,

hand in hand, a dream set on repeat.

 

Yesterday came and went, and the ticket remained

on the shelf.  She folded up the sunset with the tea,

inside the hands, palm lines underneath time.

Today is forever remembering tomorrow.

 

Piece of Sky

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The piece of me that is the sky

flies within the blue, hopes with

the sun, believes the clouds.

Above, the piece watches me,

sends me to the sea to breathe,

scatters green, gifts wildflowers

like smiles.  In the sky, a piece of me

flies, and within me lies ~

a perfect piece of sky.

swan’s light

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and when she would glide,

remember her white and honest

she tucked beneath her wings,

a trail of glow bloomed beneath

her. float. shine, water angel,

collector of let go dreams, swim

in swirl of come true bright,

flashing believe, keeper of know,

angel wings save sinking hope,

swan’s heart throwing light.

Us

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in how shall i wait when i drift

within the feel of all that is you,

music and the wrap of my soul,

wildflowers and goodnight kisses,

guardian mountains and speaking eyes.

traveling my days woven with your

every thought, and mine, and wait,

so patience rings like a bell tower

on the highest hill, and I climb

by the sun’s pull and my know of you

to the now that waits for tomorrow,

each step and word, hope leading to

us. 

 

 

wildflower days

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and then there was you,

and shadows bowed and carried daisies,

for the sun returned and sung the sky

to my blue.  maples and oaks whispered,

wove their leaves in the breeze, throwing

dancing dapples of sunlight around me.

and i laid my wildflower days in your music,

wrapped like summer and water’s float,

ten thousand balloons, each one called hope,

stayed floating in my new sky,

because there was you.

 

Icy Tree Under the Fire Sky

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Icy tree under the fire sky

holds on to her shine, grips

her tender fingers with diamond

drops and defies him to threaten

her with his heat.  She is proud,

stands at the top of the rise,

tips back her head and sings.

Her frozen limbs swing to catch

late day light, sparkle and know

she belongs this way, shining

through angry fire.  He closes in,

trying to melt her delicate ice,

but she holds it higher, her promise,

until fire has melted, receded,

and all that remains behind

is the blue glow of hope.

Sounds of You

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The sound of the water travels
through the hills, a melody of bubbles, 
rocks, and reasons.  Bare December 
trees look down on honest, leafy blankets 
covering rocky ground.  Follow the call 
of moving water; it speaks of patience 
and travels that never end, only pick up 
leaves to carry along the way.  Moss 
wraps rocks in green warmth, whispers 
them secrets of softness and holding on. 
And then, the light filters gently, with hope, 
kissing the water into swirls and drops, 
sounds of you everywhere. 

Puddles

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All night she stayed,
forehead pressed 
against the chilly window, 
waiting for the rain 
to turn to snow. 
Pleading eyes watched 
the streetlight, as rain 
fell down, and wind 
chased it sideways. 
All she needed 
was to see it turn 
white, to cover life 
outside the window 
with tiny pieces of 
icy hope. 
But morning brought 
only dark puddles 
outside and on 
her face. 

Juliette Wears a White Bow in her Hair

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Juliette wears a white bow in her hair.

Each morning, as the tent city awakens at daybreak, and the pangs

of relentless hunger return, she lifts her head from a pillow of rags to find

the white bow.  Her mother once tied it in her hair, before Port-au-Prince perished,

Mama was gone, and only hardship remained.  She crawls from the torn tent,

finds her sister, fixing the rocks that hold together their home.  Vacancy,

a void for what has been lost in her eight years.  Juliette studies her cracked feet,

hardened leather soles from years of walking with no shoes.  And the scabs

on her legs are shaped like flowers that don’t grow amid piles of trash and rubble

surrounding her.  Cholera called on their city, took so many, left Juliette uneasy,

a new vulnerability.  Nature is cruel and doesn’t care about her feelings, and Juliette

hates her back, with every cringe of her scant body.  She shudders.

Sister signals it is time to walk for water.  They must go early or they will have none.

Still in partial darkness, the sisters make their way uneasily through the weary paths

of the tent city.  Vulnerable and exposed, they move quickly in the muddy alleys.

The water walk they make daily is silent but has a song of scarcity and despair,

the sound of wind in a dried up riverbed. Juliette feels the song with each step.

They return, in the stifling Haiti sun, each with a bucket of water balanced on her head. 

Sometimes, in the heat, Juliette’s eyes start to swim and her head swirls, and her feet

feel as though they are sinking.  But she never forgets the sheer significance of water,

nor the burden she carries. One bucket of water will be saved for them, and one will buy

something to eat.  It is nearly all she thinks about:  food.  She is tired, depleted, and

leans back against a rock outside their torn tent, making a large circle in the dirt

with her fnger.  Smiling, she takes her dusty finger and makes her circle into a balloon.

Juliette wears a white bow in her hair.

 

 

(note: this photo is courtesy of Save the Children, Juliette is the child I sponsor in Haiti)