December 13, 2015
In a momentary fog, I stand on thin, dark ice.
The frigid pool below is fear.
I begin to slip.
I hear my baby crying, only he’s not a baby anymore.
It reverberates in my ears.
Make it stop! I yell.
Then I hear the drum of the door slam.
More shrill crying.
A good memory is overwritten.
And takes away one without a picture.
I regret the sound of my beastly reprimand.
I feel a bitter chill: it’s resentment.
My stomach whirls in melody.
The endless refrain. If only I’d refrained.
These notes wrap a dark veil all around us.
The crescent moon is waxing.
It reveals a river connected to streams.
At first unseen, but THERE.
I feel a hug, long and tight.
A new lens rests in my hands
One that may connect us more deeply.
Looking through, I see light, and find myself again.
December 20, 2016
I hold on to photographs I made that may not speak to me today, but could at a time in the future, as my way of seeing changes. I am not really hoarding, just holding on, to each moment and item, and opportunity to remember, to be present. It’s all going past way too quickly. How does one recognize when it changes, when the holes left behind from memories and experiences fading away are more plentiful than all of the time left? Might not be true, but why does it feel that way?
January 5, 2017
I don’t know what is to become of them, or me, or us together. I can’t be sure that they are going to come out unscathed, avoiding all that I fear for them amid the chaos. This uncertainty is what I hold being their mother. This vulnerability replays out in my mind, as if I need reminding to keep them safe. Yet, this refrain is so hauntingly beautiful to me, as it’s as constant as the light and shadows of each passing day.
April 11, 2017
The cold air tickles my bare skin, raising goosebumps.
I take a cold sip, drinking the space between me and them.
A morning dove sings perched up on the wire, signaling .
Hip-hip! It’s spring again, but the wave of pain, rolls within, like a sharp breeze skirting over the water.
Another year gone, ever the same, but underneath, fitfully unforeseen.
They are ever more layered, partly sprung.
Seeing beauty: it’s my well.
What are they living?
In these uncertain moments, an ache answers acknowledging fragility.
As they nestle deeper into my heart through these salty seasons of motherhood.
April 16, 2018
The cold air is unmoving, except for when the wind thrusts it violently making me bend in its wake. Trees mockingly bloom with snowball cotton tops. Gale force winds throw the storm door off its hinges as I make my way outside. I hear the birds who have come back to our yard to sing, though the snow clings, swaddling the muddy earth. Could it be that winter is my growing season as I am blasted by aching pains? Bitter surroundings intensify, yet what is alight inside me radiates warmth back against the icy shivers. Slowly, daylight extends as the cold months tick tock. Sunsets shift further towards due west as its arcing trajectory swoops. A lingering golden rim on the horizon hovers like a tally mark above the distant tree line, as I count the days until the peepers share their song. I could wish it all away, but instead I find myself humming a harmonizing rhythm to this turbulent season. Glimmers emerge in the dark, catching light and sparkling, bringing me to notice the beauty. The bridge will come when the first forsythia blooms, signaling the end to winter’s fever.
June 18, 2018
running downhill into saltwater sprays
sea waves lift and buoy me afloat
i am lighter for the jaunt
the heaviness rolls out with the tide.
once a headless standing stem,
i am at least abloom.
my curly petals bend in the light
transfixed and aglow.
the rhythm of the breeze
marks the intervals of my unease.
October 21, 2018
This Thing! This thing!
Like a fount, it overflows,
spilling over the walls.
I am cast silver in the pour,
catalyzed into a frenzy.
I am bending, bounding,
Flutter and flip.
all space beats.
Boom, Bang, Boom!
I stride and sway
in playful infinite.
My body beams, lustrous,
in full swing glows.
It is a rotating radiance,
Bursting and splendid – not still.
I am a whirring glimmer,