Rain

it’s not a midlife crisis,
it’s a cracking,
like thin ice on a puddle of water,
first just some hairline wrinkles around the eyes,
then the rest, all at once

it’s a 40-odd year journey of finally feeling free enough to crack,
of figuring out how to pick apart the shell and stand in the presence of myself,
of giving myself permission to unearth and to write,
but also to stalk my own soul,
and sometimes having too much of my own self

sometimes the stalking hurts,
if for no other reason than my skin doesn’t feel like it’s mine;
sometimes I panic,
because I’ve been staring at the answers for so long,
but can’t locate the questions

finding and asking the right questions,
speaking them out loud and in the open,
oh, God –
it turns the air around my words into weather

they say a person’s personality is the sum of their experiences,
but that isn’t entirely true;
if my past was all that defined me,
I’d never be able to put up with myself –
I need the freedom to convince myself that I’m more than the mistakes I made yesterday,
that I am all of my next choices, too,
all of my tomorrows

I am words into rain,
face upturned as the dirt around my bare feet becomes freckled with brown question marks,
my body a thing to be spoken with

and I reach out with open arms for those I love,
pulling them so close there will never be room for blame

Willows

long tendrils of green glide in whisper,
their once-silent loneliness rubbing against one another,
a blanket of branches swaying in the midnight breeze,
the soft part of something strong,
letting go

willows weep in the moonlight,
like me,
and stars show like broken glass in the sun,
past and present colliding like fusion,
opposing forces guided toward one another,
their sole purpose uncovering fundamental clarity,
peering into the face of age old questions,
leading to more questions,
knowing that finding answers was never the purpose

Gardening

the sweet glow of summer rests,
ripened to golden on cheeks,
as fastidious fingers tug and pull
that which is not meant
to take root

a curious breeze blows welcomed secrets,
as deliciously sore muscles
and hard-earned sweat
unearth truths once hidden
beneath the now upturned
soil and rocks

anxious leaves rustle a whispered concerto
in the tree tops,
as she gathers herself in handfuls,
piece by organically grown piece,
leaving behind for fertilizer
that which is no longer useful
above ground

and when the work for today is done,
she rests,
under the blue light of the August moon,
ready for the change a’comin’

-image credit Pinterest; shared as part of dVerse Poets Open Link Night; also shared as part of Mindlovemisery’s tale weaver 

Kaleidoscope

I stand, vulnerable,
exposed to my core,
your support and guidance
my safety net,
allowing fragmented pieces
to be carefully refit and joined,
an infinite, ever-growing network of colorful, reflective symmetry,
taking in the world,
famished, starving for all its myriad of tumbling color,
all it’s varying shapes and designs,
devoured, absorbed, and reflected,
creating patterns within and around me,
as well as welcomed, spontaneous bursts,
the wisdom of connection filling my entire being,
a kaleidoscope where once
there was no color

Shared in reaponse to the Daily Prompt, colorful; image via Pixabay