Seen With Joy

I see him in you sometimes.

He lives in yours eyes,

behind your brow,

and in the bridge of your nose where it crinkles when you grin.

He comes with joy.

Taking Chances

I’m pruning azaleas when the storm blows in.

Thunder thunders.

Lightning strikes.

I stand my ground.

The worst HAS happened.

And besides,

I have family there.

Tree Frogs at Night

I love tree frogs at night,

the back and forth,

the give and take,

the way the air vibrates,

on one side first, and then the other.

There’s comfort in their noise,

in the way they fill darkness with sounds of life..

I listen and remember,

I’m not alone.

On My Own

Her hair was young.

Her face was not.

Her eyes, behind glasses, were quick.

Her hips were wide.

Her smile was not.

Her hand, on your collar, familiar.

I watch as you see her;

the tousled hair, and past the glass, the eyes,

which though focused on mine, fill yours with a light I barely remember.

And I know what I might never have guessed…

on my own.

Goodbye

I won’t say “Goodbye”.

You can’t make me.

The word is too strong,

it’s meaning too clear,

the emptiness implicit in it’s utterance too near.

I won’t say “Goodbye”.

I don’t want to.

I’ve done this before.

I know that it feels

like a door has been slammed on the wake of my heels.

I won’t say “Goodbye”.

But, you can.

I’ll hear what you say

as I walk away,

and you’ll hear my silence as a promise to stay.

On the Cusp

She’s been here before.

She knows the arc,

the curve that hugs her hips.

From this place she sees it all.

The places she could go,

the person she could be,

and all the reasons she won’t and can’t be.

Age and experience.

Time and distance.

On the cusp of crazy.

Knowing

You know I want to…

but I can’t.

The time is wrong;

the air is thick,

with things we say,

and things we don’t say,

and feelings we promise not to feel…

today.

Because, yesterday won’t go away.

Boarding Pass

Do you wonder,
as you sit on your patio,
with a glass of wine at your left elbow,
being serenaded by frogs and an assortment of night-calling insects,
when an airplane interupts the aria,
who is in the plane?

Do you wonder where they are going?

Do you wish you were with them?

Hunting Hearts

She was the definition of grace, as she swooped and swirled in languid circles mesmerizing her prey, effortlessly.

She appeared unaware, uncaring even, of his approach, as she pointed her regal features in the direction of a far horizon and glided into another turn.

Her helpless target paused, not out of fear, but in awe of the beauty before him.

We both watched, as she sailed in the wake of glorious plumage that caught and held the rays of the sun.

As he moved towards her, I prayed a silent blessing, feeling my impotence. His journey was inevitable.

She made another pass, looking for just a moment, in his direction.

I turned to walk back up the drive. The die was cast. For the moment, she had won.

He took several halting steps in her direction before allowing his gait to announce his decision, and as he drew closer, I’m sure I saw her smile.

Little girl on a bicycle….

Southern Snow

Snow falls as thick, fluffy, wads of ice that slap the tops of puddles left by yesterday’s rain.

The grumbling sound of thunder accompanies the shouts of children undeterred from summer pastimes, as a baseball splits the flakes on its way to a tobogganed batter.

Paddled cactus fronds bend with fluffy, white weight.

Birds jump about leaving three-pronged impressions in the green and white lawn, while, seeing them, the dog pauses at the back door, unwilling to brave the blizzard despite the temptation.

But, he watches.

From his perch in front of the windows, his ears perk as he watches white stuff fall from a pewter colored sky, covering everything it touches. He watches hooded, mittened children run and play, and gather slush, crunching it between hands they no longer feel, before hurtling it at the nearest unsuspecting target. I wonder what he thinks…

I join him at the window, and wrapping myself in my own arms as a guard against the icy glass, we marvel at the wonder and beauty of a southern snow.