The Delicate Task (Plus One)

Orange Truck, puddles and clouds

On Your Leaving

If I were to write of your goodbye, it would sound something like this
(I dreamed of loss last night, stammered the haunting memory of the nightmare
Over coffee in the kitchen with your father, I spoke of a baby left behind in the snow)
And so in fact, it is nothing like that, but more of a chilly release of you into the cold
While I am still so warm
(And yet, the dream still haunts me)

In the knowing that you will change
And truly
I always loved you just the way you were

I am numbed by the pain of void
You were you
And I am me, plus you
Sounds so simple, perhaps it always was
You will forgive me I trust, for everything that occurred
Before your leaving came upon me
We were two, close to one
On occasion

I wept
But then you know that, I am sure
You have known me, well
In all the small goodbye’s that have been said
You quietly studied the lines on my face
Tear tracts tell good stories of what lies beneath

Please read between the lines
Knit together were we, not as womb and child
But by a deep love
The thread of which is unbreakable

In the Spring, when you return
Change will have visited me

Because you left
Me loving you
Just as you were
(Because the dream still haunts me)
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall
The snow is heavy on the trees where you are

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Honored to have a poem of mine,The Delicate Task, over at a beautiful new community of words, The Mudroom Blog (click here to go there). I would be honored if you would join me there to read this piece of poetry in its entirety:

The Delicate Task

I watched his hands, a gentle blend of weary

Each line, earned, every callous worn like a medal of honor

The request, brave and earnest

His response breathed through his fingertips, whispers waft and billow

Through the labor of his hands

His yes, a gift of patient, steady love

I look away, the chore asks for silence…..

(click here to continue reading The Delicate Task at The Mudroom)

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Joining Laura today for Playdates At The Wellspring

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Merry Christmas – Christmas: A Time For New Birth

Merry Christmas friends. Thanking God today and everyday  for you all. And wishing each one of  you a day filled with friends and family, love and hope, peace and joy.

And rest for your weary souls.

Today I am honored to be at my friend Diane W. Bailey’s blog telling a Christmas story filled with memories and gratitude. You are invited to hear a story that brings me joy to share. Click the link to read……and Merry Christmas with love and rejoicing. ( Oh, and it is snowing on my blog. Did you notice.)

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The Weaning

Spencer and the dolphin

THE WEANING

I notice you
Noticing me
We walk as women now
In tandem
But hours and towns separate us
Birth was  yesterday
It appears to me
I weep
Even at the thought of your leaving
Tomorrow shrouds my soul
Today
Hope is your middle name
And I am left
Mine is Grief
Stay young my child
Simply
Stay young at heart
My feathered nest
Plucked  from my breast
Internal ticking
Tells  me it is nearly time
For you to  find
Places you’ll call home
I bind up
Prepare
So to wean an aching heart
Good bye my child
It is nearly time for you to go
You who started in my womb
Too soon you said hello

To places outside of me.

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Today is Day 10. Joining Emily at Emily Wierenga dot com for Imperfect Prose

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Trinity

Math is not my friend
We buck heads over answers
That must be right or wrong
Gray does not exist in the minds of math-minded
There is a narrowing, whittling to the n’th degree
The theology of numbers
Has no room for interpretation
Or personal history
But I know this to be True
Three is holy
And three is my friend
But who is counting
The three children
One watched Count Dracula
With me, Sesame Street math
Serving numbers up with sugar coated ease
Three writers at a lit lunch
Time stands still
Math and science don’t believe it
Ask the poet writer how
She will find the words
And three amigos
Simple counting on one hand
Friends in triplicates
Warm and fuzzy
Math matters not at all
With matters of the heart
God knows the sacred
In the number three
This poem brought to you
By the number three
A braided cord too
Strong to break
Binds