Today

I can still feel the sun’s heat on my face,

even when fear wrestles with grace.

I can still see love in another’s eyes,

while facing the darkness of demise.

I can still water a flowering bud,

as my emotions get swept away by the flood.

And I can still believe today will be tomorrow,

when my heart mends from subsuming sorrow.

The Virus

In the quiet of the night

In the hole of the soul

In the alley where it lived

Under the moon covered in clouds

The sadness it did bring,

Pulling the stitches of the world

Infecting the tears of many

While living in the body untold

Through the darkness it spread

Killing wisdom with a stone

But through it all a tiny light did glow

And with it, brought hope

Small and grand gestures brought healing

Like vitamins from the sun

And the virus disappeared

Into the cave from which it did come

For humanity is the strongest medicine of all

Luci

She can turn the world with her smile.

Her heart, a song, coloring your eyes with something better.

She is fiercely kind and kindly direct.

Swiftly tilting her head, she questions the patriarchy.

A poet mathematician. A singer scientist. A musician doctor, healing your tired mind with her laughter.

She is precisely messy, delightfully charged, a force of joy.

A daughter, sister. friend to all.

She is Water

She is water,

Flowing, dripping, dropping, water-falling.

Washing the inequity from the streets of

your indifference.

She’s a tidal wave, a force to level out

the wrong done upon her sisters.

The tides are made of her opinion.

You can bathe in her beauty, her fresh, pure springs.

She crashes, white, frothy surf, commanding

the attention of her audience on the beach.

She is holy water. She is nature.

You must drink her for life.

She is water,

Cascading, swirling, drowning in strife.

Twenty-Twenty

A year in the swirl of the twirl of a life

A blink and a tear from the center of her eye

It came, and it passed, unpaused by the strife

Ignoring the very question, an existential “Why?”

It spun, and it sputtered, finally rushing ahead

A child, somewhat wild, quietly perplexed

Dreams in rough shape yet decidedly undead

Broken, not battered, mildly vexed

Swiftly absorbing the ending of reality’s play

She’s a year, a lifetime, a decade of plenty

Living a lifetime in moments today

Flashing forward, to tomorrow, twenty-twenty

 

 

 

2009/2019

The story of my decade is a lovely one. I have more lines and more joy. I am confident in my me-ness. I know who my close friends are. They talk to me not about me. My empathy is at an all time high, and so is my good humor. I still have this red dress in my closet and could rock it at a moment’s notice. I also have so much more to write. Living life fully is a writer’s spark.