0

Morning Glory

Let Saturday spill through my window;
silhouette of daffodils reflecting yellow
through the shutters as I turn over
and his hand is missing from mine,

but the scent on his pillow remains,
leaving me inhaling the presence
of love and last night’s conversation.

We hesitate to let morning come,
but, oh, how the sun lends light to life;
the red glimmer from a cardinal
taps a love song upon the stained glass;
butterflies chasing daisies, swaying
even in the absence of an august breeze.

At six o’clock A.M., silence hums
and a far away melody strums
to my heart, soft, like his blessings;
like the words we whisper
when no one else is listening.

~

0

Love Letter #47: Yellow Butterflies

I remember counting stars when I was small and then, suddenly, I was all grown up, watching one fall (the night you died,) but it seemed like a thousand came crashing down into the center of my heart.

Just when I began to doubt love, it blew in carrying me to a mountaintop where he knelt with a ring and a question that led me here, seven years later watching him sleep; stroking his hair in my 2:00 am insomnia.

You would have loved him; the way he smiles when I talk about you for hours in a rented RV on our anniversary as my tears spill on his shoulder. He makes me laugh until my stomach hurts; until I forget why I was crying, how my eyes light up when he walks in the door and how he holds my hand, even when we are sleeping.

You would hate it here today; the pause of trees, the frightened hum of nature bowing to the unknown and the faint twinkle of stars amidst an unstable moon, the earth trembling under bare feet as flowers sway in the weep of disturbing winds,

but, in the summer, yellow butterflies follow my every step and a sky full of fireflies reminds me that you still bring the light.

~for Eloy. I miss you

0

Love Letter #46: Secret Chord

Footsteps echo the dance
of a harpist’s chords;
psalms falling like secret stars
as yesterday’s rusted tears
sculpt this silhouette;
soften this heart
into a puddle of adoration

swirling like pretty poetry
bowed at your feet.

I thought love was an arrow;
a pain that stole last breaths,
but, oh, the realization of you!;

a light that illuminates
from one beautiful name
dropping me to my knees,
one voice that whispers
through my right hand,
spreading an infectious love

in syllables of solace-
this pen, leaking red;

your words in my mouth.

2

When Summer was More than a Season

I can almost see her
at the clothesline,
pinning up her heart

with each pair of corduroys;
each sweater sewn with love.

I bake her cookies;
add an extra teaspoon of vanilla,
another pinch of brown sugar,
but there is something missing
from the ingredients;

her kiss
upon my cheek.

2

Love Letter #45: The Calling

I could feel a hush in the crowd;
a murmur of discontent
as words left my lips and fell like conviction
upon empty, but, unwilling vessels.
If only words could penetrate hearts,
like birdsong through sheer curtains
on sleepy-eyed Sundays.

I can hear his harp hum
like the psalms he left;
words that pull me up and break me
at 3am

leaving me here with this pen, weeping
like a poet who writes to herself
hoping a reflection of this deep, deep love
will seep through the pages
and touch a soul,

and touch a soul.

0

Against This Present Darkness

Eyes rise and fall
with simple shading of clouds
upon a face;
a bowed head
seeking shelter
from raging tempests;

from love’s ache.

Night comes quietly
like snowflakes in winter;
like the whisper of psalms
​ beyond candlelit curtains.

I keep your words with me
soft syllables of grace,
sweet shelter

in the midst of my storm.

~

0

Cleansed

I used to wait for rain
stand, palms up, pleading
for earth to fall away

so I could bloom;

sat under that weeping willow
many a Sunday, sleeping
under the swish of limbs,
tremble of railroads
echoing at my back-
ears attuned
only to cardinal’s song
to fade the noise
of Monday coming,

It took years of suffering
to open my wings,
to close the umbrella
to feel the son;

to feel the sun.

~