picking up the pieces

Pick up these bones.
Breathe some sunshine into them.

Never mind the snow clouds gathering.
Blue sky will come again.
It will sharpen your eyes.

These white sky, gray sky days will fade.
You may remember them hazily in dream.
But in awake, the blue is all you'll view.
Thankfully.

You walked to the edge of your world, yet again.
No harm in one more time.
Your feet guide you
As your heart sings along with the smile beginning to form.

Yes, falling results from jumping,
But so does flying.

So, jump!

The sky will raise you up
Or catch you on your way down.

Each fall makes you stronger.

Pick up these bones.

Ready,
Set,
Go,

Again.

rushwrite 24 november

Rushwrite: a word which here means, to write furiously without pause, to write whatever comes without stopping to edit, change, hesitate. (In other words: who knows if this gibberish has any meaning. It's just fun to let go sometimes.)

For some reason it's the way you hold yourself upright.
It's that thought which keeps me up all night.
Or perhaps it's a dream starring you.
You've got the balancing act down pat
Yet you can never say no to another object being thrown into the melee.
So you stand and sway.
You afix your eyes at the top of the spinning circle your hands keep throwing.
You wait for me to fall to my knees
And kiss your feet.
Only then will you let everything clatter to the floor.
Before you clap your hands,
Before you dry your tears,
Before you raise me back to my feet,
Please sing a praise or two
For the rainfall which darkens trees' trunks
And sets rainbows in motion.
You will never know how your words crawl to the back of my mind
And sink to a rest at the bottom of my heart.
You'll never know because I'll never tell you.
Perhaps if you stand with outstretched hands,
I'll whisper in your ear.
I'd like to be that close to you,
But it would probably hold less significance for you than it does for me.
See,
I've never felt the rise and fall of someone's breath near my ear
Besides the babies' I hold.
They close their eyes,
And I pause.
I stop
And feel love.
They make me want to be in heaven's reach.
Whenever you feel lonesome, look up.
Whenever you feel doubts begin to fly,
Shake your fist.

baby's breath

My bike flats,

So I walk.

North up 9^th East.

I see a dad carrying his baby.

I see a mom carrying her baby.

Both of them—

These parents—

Headphoned off into their own worlds.

Why does sadness fill me when I see this?

I view them both at precisely the same time—

The dad walking south.

The mom walking north.

Stepping to a tune I do not hear.

My lament comes in question form:

What if they miss their baby's first gurgle of language?

I would be so sad.

I would be sad

And I don't even know those babies' names.

I’ve never patted their backs.

Never wiped their little noses.

Sure, the mom's baby rests slumbering

Cozied up in one of those front stomach carriers.

Still, is not the sound of babies' sleeping breath so sweet?

I would swear

I can hear it even over the noisy cars rumbling by.

That new-to-earth sound comforts me;

I wouldn’t want to miss a single exhalation.

I walk on,

Holding not a baby,

But cradling my bike’s seat in my right hand.

Thinking: ears always open.

I wrote these ideas down on my regular blog a while back, but wanted to do something a little more with them. I don't know if I made it worse. Just a little release before starting school today. Also a celebration of Sierra and Joe becoming parents. Baby Abel (I'm not sure on his given name yet, we'll see) was born last night!!! I'm a cousin! Congrats, lovelies.

to do

She had one dream before she died. It never came true. She had even purchased the hammock. She wrote on her to-do list for the following day: set up the hammock. The backyard had two trees—perfect for the part. They stood tall enough to bear the weight which a hammock would thrust upon them. But her pen crossed out only one of the to-do list items: water plants.

She’d woken up and relieved herself. While she brushed her teeth, she stood momentarily next to each potted plant to water it. She set down the watering can, making sure to wipe off the bottom first so it wouldn’t drip on the counter. Then she opened her planner and crossed it off. The second item on her list.



to be continued?