Birthday

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Let's span the poles
hand in hand
as we celebrate this
most important day of
birth and rebirth
life and sobriety
friendship!
I bow to you and then
we dance, joyfully
graceful, toes twinkling
in the aurora borealis
of our hopes and dreams.
Giggling over sweets and tea
delighting in our
commonalities of
friendship
wordsmithing
humor.
Despite the fact
we've never met,
virtual sisters joined
by choice.

Christmas past

The inner child weeps as
we decorate the tree,
her tears seeping down
my cheeks, at the
memories attached to
each ornament
some made
some given
some sad.
I gently hang
the tiny stocking
with her name,
remembering the
sisters who each have
one just like it with
names in glitter.
She misses them,
as I do, but contact isn't worth
the pain
that is always
delivered.
So many sad
childhood Christmases,
not about the presents
or lack of,
but about the annual message
delivered of
being
'less than'
'not good enough'
'bad'.
Never about anything
positive, only
negative.
Unkind, untrue words
spoken by
abusers
child molesters
parents
clergy,
undeservedly certain of
their goodness
rightness
righteousness.
We survived those
young years, to tell
our truth
and to make
joyful holidays
happen
now.

Privileged duty

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Purposefully inking the dots on

the pristine white card,

thoughts of other elections are

unexpectedly recalled.

Puzzling over that first absentee ballot,

seeking others to witness my

tentative choices.

Fearfully following

the ex husband into a church 

in an unknown neighborhood 

on a scary dark evening

to elect the lesser of 

two late eighties bozos.

Listening to a boyfriend berate

me for my presidential choice

while he gave my sick self 

a ride home from the polls.

Standing with legs wide apart,

my small daughter playing between

with toys and my shoelaces,

binky firmly plugged in her tiny lips.

She rises and grips my legs

as I study the options,

carefully poking the chads out.

Taking my niece today to register and

vote for her very first time, feeling

the pride of being an American and

a woman and voting my beliefs

without apology.

Sins of the mothers

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Generations of dysfunction
abuse and incest
emotional neglect and
alcoholism and death and
physical harms
continue and continue and
continue, harm without end.
Sadness and rage at the
powerlessness to protect
or treat those affected, who
are unwilling to see the
unfolding shape of their
damaged lives.
The victims want no
help
will not acknowledge the
reality that these
problems
have their roots in
several generations back, when
child rearing was often
violently unchallenged,
those bloody lessons learned
then inflicted thoughtlessly
on innocent children
who then go on to taint
their own babies.
The wheel spins on, ancestors.
Could you pray for your children
to escape this cycle?
Is there hope for your purgatorial
willingness to do the right thing
now?

Delighted to be

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Every day a joy
for as simple a reason as
the house is always clean,
kitchen counters are clear,
fridge is tidily arranged and
not a condiment graveyard.
The table is smooth, stain-free,
pretty, elegant. The floors
shine under meticulous care,
reflecting the flickering lights
many vanilla candles throw.
Coziness saunters through
every inch of home, possessively
relaxing in every nook and cranny.
Deep waves of well-being
roll out every evening,
blanketing the neighborhood
with the ecstatic contentment
of living in peaceful solitude
once again.

*********************************

Thank you, Hyde Park Poetry, for the award!



I would humbly like to nominate Fire and Ice for consideration in future awards!

The last moment

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Hoping against hope
until the very last
moment
that things could be
different and that
we
could still be 'we'.
There was the last
moment
of telling you
I was leaving.
Then the one when you
signed the separation
agreement,
the only thing
we've agreed on
in years.
The last faint chance
as I bought
a new home.
And the so very weak
speck
of hopeless wishing and
swallowed tears,
mourning,
as I began
to move out and
move on.
Even that first dinner
on the first night
under
my
new roof,
you still could not give and
be
who you promised to
be.
Even now,
your children
your friends
your sister
plead with you,
not to take
these steps.
You smile
and
continue.

Living with intention

Rebuilding
flying high
I refuse to be
categorized as
starting over.
These changes are
just the latest leg in
my life's journey.
I strive to make every
moment, every movement
matter. Working with
deliberation and
thoughtfulness, forming
each written letter and word
with precision
crafting my home with
an eye to beauty and
sensuality and the
simple pleasing of
my soul
so long denied by
the structure of
another's dreams and
routines.
Mine
all mine.
I am responsible for
the shape of
my life
now.