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Love Letter 53: Elvis and an Empty Chair

I keep two chairs on the porch
even though the conversation
is one-sided and the coffee

doesn’t quite taste the same.

Some nights, when the stars
are brighter than usual,
I turn Elvis up louder,
and share our song

and sometimes,
I could swear
as those white roses sway
in the evening breeze,

I hear you join me
in the chorus.

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Out of the Box

There are nights I find myself
standing at that old clothesline;
sleeves waving goodbye to this peace-

this solace that awakening brings,

searching for constellations
that seem to have left me empty
like the words you left
inside the wounds.

Here I am, fingers on the keyboard
feelings in my throat
waiting for the syllables to fall
like fireflies; like whispers

just before my pen hits the floor.

I climbed out of the box long ago
but you stand there, one foot in
one foot out, waiting for an answer;
a simple solution to the dilemma
that looks back at your reality
that cosmetics can’t cover up.

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Tumbleweed

Possibilities are endless
as aspirations blossom,
fade, and bloom again

with the rise and fall
of the sun;

stems firmly planted,
leaves curl,
petals waver in the wind,
wilt and gently tumble
like the sway of wildflowers
in a field of adversity,

edges tattered,
beaten,

bent, but never broken.

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The Frailty of October

I find tranquility
in flowers
and forgiveness

in a field of constellations

when every eye is sleeping
and the only sounds I hear
are the whistle of midnight trains,
fingers typing bittersweet goodbyes,

and the echoes of a frail moon’s violin
strumming the last chords of October.

~

~prayers go out to the victims of the Vegas shooting and their loved ones ❤

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Love Letter #52: Turn the Page

As that door swung open
at 2:00 am,
(always my prophetic hour,)
I knew these bare feet
would find wildflowers;

fingers wrapped in the warmth
of his,
this heart –
skipping beats

within the sound of syllables

a collective sigh
of moon awaiting sun.

A first book is birthed in pain;
love spilled upon pages one
through forty-eight,
hidden in quivering pen
by the flicker of a candle,

but, turn the page,
and there is a light!;
a pirouette of words
swirling,

a kaleidoscope;
a skyful of enamored stars
and the joyful prance of souls

joining the letters
of love’s sentence

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June 23rd

Don’t you hate it when you hear that song;
the one that makes you reach out
when you never thought you would?

I left my heart in a linkedin message-
(that is the only way I knew how to reach him,)
Dear Dad,
never expecting to receive a response,

but, I did.

It was straight forward,
to the point:

“Thank you for getting in touch.
I am so glad to hear that you are happy in
your life, but,”

(that resounding word, ) “but..

I would rather not begin to get involved
after all these years.
I hope you understand.”
and it was signed simply:
“Love always.”

I wondered,
where was the love in that letter?

I could have crawled back
into my safe cocoon,
into that introverted little girl;
that want-to-be poet
that always wanted a daddy,

but, I had already blossomed.

~