Never End


she sat on the couch, 
the smell of freshly popped popcorn laced with a faint whisper of strawberry shampoo filling the air around her, 
as her youngest daughter folded herself into her,
arms wrapping years around her small frame,
holding them in

she glanced from one side to the other,
catching her oldest daughter in a throw-your-head-back giggle,
and her husband with his face all smile and eyes bright with joy

and just like that,
she felt them all blow through her chest, 
simultaneously filling her to all her edges,
and turning her to dust 

God, she was happy,
happier than she’d ever been

and she never wanted it to end

-stock image via Pinterest

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How’d That Happen?


it tore at my heart like nothing I’d ever experienced,
watching my daughter’s youthful uncoiling dictate her moods and impulses,
confusion, pain, and fear up front,
and all I wanted to do was hold her close and comfort her,
shield her from the pain,
knowing I could not,
for that’s not the way of things

then, somewhere over the last couple of years,
something about her has slowly changed,
there’s this air of grace settling in her,
and I’m not even sure from where it came

some girls grow into womanhood gracefully,
and some remain girls all their lives,
but there it was, inside my daughter,
all of the sudden,
not a graceful entrance by any means, 
but a stealthy one

we’d just been standing there,
in the kitchen,
when she had smiled, and said,
“thanks, mom”,
and something shifted

five minutes later, I realized I could
still feel her voice filling my chest

for, it mirrored my own voice,
slightly lower and more confident than the voice I remembered her having,
and I found myself wondering when it had made its home in my daughter’s vocal cords,
in her spirit,
and why I hadn’t noticed it before 

she is all grown up,
a woman

wow

how’d that happen?

-image via Pixabay

Stormy

Forehead against the drop-streaked glass, 
Palms resting on window pane,
Foggy breath exhales ghosts of past,
As eyes echo mother earth’s rain,
And, as concave divots mark time’s pass,
With each ricochet hope is gained,
For, thunder is but a catalyst,
And lightning nature’s metamorphosis  

-Image is Winter Rain, by Marta Bevacqua; written as part of dVerse Poet Pub’s meeting the bar, using the form of the ottava rima. Go check it out and jump in! 

Rented Sin


sitting in a row of ducks and gooses,
feeling out of place, 
squarely obtrusive,
amid the proud peacocks with their
never-ending pretending,
whitewashed souls dipping fingers 
in a bath of masks,
hiding flasks,
seeking absolution solution,
pocketful of beads,
conveniently erasing greed,
living in flashy suits of rented sin

come on in

-image via Pixabay

Transparent

she’s imperfect in a world that strives for perfection,
instead seeking connection,
while embracing those ill-fitting grooves,
nothing left to prove,
challenging the rerun tapes,
and trashing the old capes

alive in her willingness to be free,
as she

finally able to see with clarity,
who it is she’s meant to be,
exposing her heart,
whole, not just part,
embracing her vulnerability,
and the risk that accompanies

for, that is her true self,
an open book, no longer on the shelf

yet there are days when weighted tears streak the menacing mirror,
when her heart is tired, sadness deeply spearing her

when the looking glass seems transparent,
and others’ stares are overwhelmingly apparent,
when she feels trapped on the inside,
desperate to hide

while others peer in

-image found via Pinterest, artwork by SAUL LANDELL 

Bringers of the Light

some would say we’re too sensitive
call us sissies or say we’re too frail
some would call us drama queens
and erect walls for us to scale

some would say we’re broken
angles and edges that just don’t fit
but I see cracks made by growth
where love was free to sift

I see expression, fearlessly
when some wish to tuck it away
truth tellers in a world of omission
seekers, willing to bend and fray

because, we aren’t afraid of darkness
for our hearts shine too bright
and we have the most amazing job –
we are the bringers of the light

-image via free lighthouse wallpapers; shared also in response to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Tale Weaver prompt

Pickle Jar

she snuggled into him,
resting her head in the nook of his shoulder,
finding it was made just for her

here, her soul was at rest,
a rest she hadn’t ever known before,
and closing her eyes,
she savored

the way his palm delicately glided over her curls,
fingers grasping in silky handfuls and lifting,
each individual strand falling to a goose-fleshed tickle against her back 

the whispered words, warm against her cheek, 
swelling her heart and causing her lip to quiver,
the gentleness of his soft lips against her forehead,
and arms which drew her so close, 
she could no longer tell where he ended 
and she began

she couldn’t imagine ever forgetting –
she wanted to preserve each breath  as she breathed it,
every feeling as it overtook her

scooping each fluttering second into an old pickle jar,
she filled it to the rim,
illuminating like a warm summer night’s fireflies

alive,
and forever lighting 
the way home 

-image found via keywordsuggests.com