The Witness

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The Witness

It was deemed that I was worthy
I took a vague vow of bearing
That my senses would capture
Catalogue the beauty
Override the pain
War analogies make me weary
(Messy mirror of the bloody real thing)
And yet, I am suited up, armed and ready
Battling as correspondent in the middle
Of this war
Rallying, as a witness
Recorder of the beauty
Crying out
I swear to tell the truth
There is beauty in the pain
Hope with me
We were called to tell these stories
Joy will not die, shattered
Scattered on the cynic’s broken

Battlefield

The witnesses remind us
Hand raisers, promising to tell nothing
But the truth
Hallowed is the ground where beauty lives
Buried are the memories
Mercy holds an olive branch
White flags fly from pole and post
My eyes have seen the glory

Extravagance

provider-mcclellanville

Extravagance

These are the days of extravagance
Want and wanting, desire and desiring
Dim in a rearview mirror, malfunctioning
Objects of desire may appear smaller than they once were
Plenty erupts into abundance
Do not misread the meaning
(Grab and consult Webster if you must, Google it)

For I have looked the giver in her eyes
And touched her coal black skin, said no
And thank you a million times
Refused the gift to a fault
Desire to give out of what she had, burned between our hands
And history rewrote itself

The force with which she gave was mighty
And I was weakened by her might
Turnips and sweet potatoes, an olive branch
Apples for the pie ( she told me to bake)
My no’s were extravagant
Her yeses like steel

Church on the sidewalk
History in the remaking
A sliver of time which doesn’t make sense
Extravagant generosity of a stranger
Left me forever changed

She wore frailty as a badge of her living
My life of never-needing, never-wanting
Rose up like a geyser of guilt
Oh how rich the gift of a giver who has little

Blessed are the poor
Extravagance is a turnip the size of her heart

I walk with a limp, burdened by a heavy load
Shame of a hoarder
Heavy-ladened by the richness of
The gift
Restless
In search of the needy
Schooled on the side of the road by the one who
Knew
She the Samaritan
I, the ditch dweller

Apples woven, again
Into a story of love

Monday Morning Quarterbacking On Saturday: Five Things I am Grateful For This Week

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Thing One

When I lived in New York (aka Manhattan) I recall, begrudgingly (aka I have tried to forget), the huge chunks of time standing waiting for the subway, the elevator in my apartment and the elevator at 285 Madison Avenue. It seemed barren. Like as a waste-land. A time thief. Endless amounts of time in transit.

So today as I shopped at Tractor Supply with my husband, I breathed in the life-style change. New York is a faint and dimming memory. Today’s outing, with smells of rubber and metal and sights and sounds of “country” this and “country” had me fully present-in-the-moment and swimming in the irony of yesterday juxtaposed to today.

Thank you, today for the siren’s song of leventy-leven brands of dog food and time wheeling the card up and down the rows searching for chicken wire and chicken pen accoutrement.

Thing Two

Oh what a tangled web. Earlier this week I was invited to high tea at a friend’s home. She was in town for four days from the UK and brought her teacups and silver, scones and tea paraphernalia in her suitcases. Grateful for high tea with three courses or was it four, what? And for friendships nurtured over tea.

Thing Three

We have squash and radishes in our garden. Backflips I tell you over spying their arrival.

Thing Four

Death almost snatched my very old lab from my arms this week. She fought back and lived to tell about it. And I have witnessed a miracle. She is old ya’ll. She cheated death this week. For that, I am grateful and amazed. Each day is a gift. Truly.

Thing Five

I am thrilled to be finding my writing friends (who are far flung all over this country) on Voxer. What a gift to discover accents and voice nuances and inflections. And little mini chats keep popping up like the gifts planted decades ago in my hundred year old yard by Mrs. Graham. Oh life. You are filled with ordinary wonder.

Thing Five and a half

People, “the book” thing is becoming realer. I just need an agent, an editor, a publisher and a million words. What the what? Help. Seriously though, the support has me teary. I should have started this post with “it” as Thing One

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Happy Weekend wondering and wandering.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          

In The Garden With Regret

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In The Garden With Regret

You left me here to tend and just think
I am under neither illusions nor weight
Neither false nor heavy

You had to go and win the bread
So I am here to water, a joint decision, shared
My intent, to steward well and leave my burdens

By the burgeoning beds of greens
(Radishes bulbous noses pushing through the richest soil,
I see you in their forcing. You mark this Earth, well

Well
But while there I found regret
Shame attended me while I mimicked the Summer rain

I can whisper while you’re gone
And you may never know
The way the garden shows

Just how barren were those days
Before the garden
Reminds me, of how old love can grow

You would hate a garden
Littered with remorse
I have fertilized the soil of ours

Seedlings will greet you
When you return
You left me here to tend and think

I’ve left the garden of regret