This boy
speaks
through all the depths
of my being
– not
my heart he carries
away
but the We
leaving such an ache.
The distance
tearing us
again and again
into
him. me.
Sliding
between our
two worlds
I am more –
and less
than
before we met.
Once
other hands
protected me
Walking through these fields
feeling
the strength
of his hand now
I struggle to stand
all over again.
What is this love?
Anger is a poison masking deeper feelings about unconditional love caught in an untenable situation stumbling along the path to acceptance I hear something fall and glance backwards – it’s just a little piece of my heart big girls don’t cry
Sticky notes that framed my computer fill the waste basket – one by one – like fall’s last leaves dropping from trees (the business year is winding down) Out back little jenny-wren has taken up residence under the patio table, darting for cover when we open the door well sited near the feeder, yet nearly…
Before I walked inside it looked ordered, pleasant I might make a difference, if small They knew I could never stay no matter how bright, sunny, nice, agreeable (unlike the cottages tidy and white on the outside – inside, dark and sad) In the cottages small hands still waited to be held little voices to…
I remember paintings larger than life bold, bright colors everywhere in contrast to the quiet house Dreary Seattle days found you hands stuffed in jacket pockets wavy blonde hair dancing down the street – though not like the affected young Harkness dancers who advertised their artistry striking a pose along the seaside Married, yes and…
Funny isn’t it how late afternoon is also early evening and is (just as surely) – night – depending on the time of year In the scrapbook…
After reaching the waterfront she settled on the old concrete bulkhead next door I at the end of the dock Maisie rested against my hip as Fox and I regarded each other from a suitable distance A few water birds passed lazily overhead but did not disturb And so we sat ignoring, and wondering about…