Lines on a Face

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Lines on a Face

Can be read
Stand with me
In the shadows
In the light
Perhaps we’ve forgotten how to be an open book
I wouldn’t speak for you
Because I can’t

Once when I was young
I fingered the rivers on my mother’s skin, stretched taut
Followed the blue pathways on a thirty something’s hand
Felt her age pulsing in her coursing veins
I read age like the blind read a page
My eyes partnered with my child-hands
Teamed up to untangle her mysteries
Heard her body tell the story of a half-life
Plus some

As we sat on a pew that was ours for an hour on Sunday
Nine/tenth’s of the law
And all

In the pews of Methodism, souls lined up to hear
Truth be told
I could not hear hers
Buried deep within her soul

Mink eyes on the face of a fashionable wrap
Thrown over the shoulders of a worshipper
Stared back at me
Two pews up and to the left
I thought of his sacrifice for status and beauty
(The things of nightmares when you are ten)
And I think of that still
Her sacrifices too
Draped in death

I found the mink eyes
Meet my hazel eyes
Frozen
Motionless
Dipped in death
I looked elsewhere and then I looked back

Lips were red
Injection-less
Skin was powdered and rouged
Nineteen sixty something
And hairspray lingered in the air

Life lines
Seek a safe place to preach the stories they have lived

Stand still at the lectern of life

And speak
Face the music

Face it
I cannot speak for you

Once, when I was young
The stories could be read

By looking there
Buried deep within the soul
Clues lined up, from chin, to cheek to brow
To help untangle
The mystery of life lived
Well
I cannot speak for you

I long to read you as a book
Open
To tell the stories that should be read
In the lines on a face

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On Remembering

 

art artwork beautiful beauty
Photo by Fancycrave.com on Pexels.com

 

On Remembering

remember what hasn’t been
yet. Before. Today
remember what the dreams hinted to
in a happy, haunting nocturnal sort of way
of what might come to be
on some other summer’s day
things hope and longing used to say
in breathy whispers
along the lines of could, perhaps and maybe
moments that haven’t had their chance
to live to see today

remember what hasn’t been
unravel next time. Reweave memories from yesterday
remember Wednesday on a Tuesday
and all the things that wait
that ask to be remembered
like healing, birth and death
and poems that take a year to gather line by line
on the poet’s winsome breath

Join me for the July issue of  The Notebook: These Pages of Mine, coming soon to email subscribers. Click the link here to sign up to receive free monthly-ish mailings in your inbox. Thank you in advance for sharing your inbox space. It is an honor and a privilege

 

 

Don Quixote’s Search

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Follow along on the wordy journey, a mix of poetry and prose, here, on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, and sign up to receive monthly email letters.

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Don Quixote’s Search

You ride out your brave
Like a thousand men
A thousand women too, no more
Your sturdy mount, your throne
Hooves shod in shoes, step brave
Teamwork for the win

D is for dreamer, Don

Your life, an alphabet soup of how to slay those dragons
In search of small t truth

Headlong into battle
You
You wore brave
Long live your legend, profile in courage
Boldness, your aftershave slapped on cheek and neck
We smell you coming
Chasing hard, chasing fast, chasing true

Fighter of the cause you took up
C is for charge

And C is for cancer
Demons come in all shapes and sizes

Fear found no place
On the back of your mount

It seeks to bully and boss
Make you cower in the corner
Men like you
Women too, the dragon-slayers
Who ride in search of dreams, dusted up in battles of their own
Make no room for excess baggage, space-takers
That take the place of
Faith, hope, and love —weapons of choice

T is for tumor

H is for Hope
C is for cure
And chemo too
F is for freedom
We’re all in search of something, Don

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Don Quixote’s Search first appeared in a collaborative exhibition entitled Environmental Abstracts with friend & artist Laurie Brownell McIntosh. You can find her on Instagram @northlightstudio803