Table For Two

Welcome to Day Fourteen. Spoiler alert. Tomorrow’s post is scheduled for prose. The poems have asked for hump day off. Thank you for joining me.


Table For Two

You could cut the space between
them with a serrated bread knife
hard and crusty silence
like the Berlin wall
stone cold divider of love
if you could cut it at all

the art of eavesdropping,
which I have down to a science
tells me that the love has faded,
died on the vine
shriveled up and gone

for goodness sakes
go back and pick a memory, ya’ll
discuss it till you are
blue in the face
and then say
i love you
like you mean it

pick a good one
like the one when your lips first
“Said I do”
young and blushing
red hot with new love

then get the check
and go
back to speaking like you did
those first thirty years
before the love
became so damn stinkin’ quiet

Your well-done steak
With Heinz
Can wait
But your love

Before it takes a sledge hammer
Tear down that wall

And you are left
By the silence you once




In Your Own Words — Restoration (A Guest Post On The Blog of Charity Singleton Craig)

Join me, please as I share my word of the week Restoration as part of a beautiful series hosted by my writer/friend/blogger Charity Singleton Craig.

Every other Thursday, Charity invites writers to writer about their word of the week. Mine,

Restoration — noun

the act or process of returning something to its original condition by repairing it, cleaning it, etc.

the act of brining back something that existed before

the act of returning something that was stolen or taken



(Fly with me over to Charity’s. It is a beautiful place filled with her words and the words of her favorite writers.  And my poem is featured there today. What an honor. Join us...Click the link and you’ll be there by the magic and mystery of the internet)

Simply Kind

summer veggies

She measured the grace she’d been given
The grace she’d given and recalled
The fragile mercy that faltered
Fell rotten from the vine
Missed the perfect time for picking

Because keeping up and tabs and score
Bring nothing but hauntingly familiar pain
And they can take a soul to the brink
Of dissatisfied

Shatters all the dreams for harmony
A perfect pitched life of faith and love
Of getting on and getting past
And loving again
With everyone in her  world, the one in which she lives and breathes
And stumbles, errs, trips up and forgets when to speak and when to listen

Well in love, where to step and how and when

Throw open the window
And let grace blow in
Rustle the curtains and carry out the stale narrative of past grievances
Let freedom fly on the kite tails
Of the tender mercies
We simply choose
To forgive

Wind whistles during the storm
And after
Comes the quite
The pregnant pauses ripe for reconciling

Score keepers and old story telling
And not looking a man in the eyes
Drain faith
Dampen hope
Mute the message of
The Gospel

She wants to see faith at work

And just saying hello to your brother
And not walking away from a sister

You don’t know how
The Gospel
Speaks so sweetly
When you, the messengers are

Simply kind

She wants to see faith at work

You Could Always Just Say Thank You

thank you peachSometime during the growing up years, in the South,  where I was raised and am raising mine ,we learned something about the transactions of words. And the early lessons get buried  the deepest if the soil is rich and the heart is receptive and the love is fertile. We feel shy and unworthy in our youth when words of encouragement or of the complimentary variety are showered on our heads. But we were told. Just say thank you. And isn’t even that difficult sometimes. It means we hear, we receive, we acknowledge that we caught the bouquet of gracious words.  We  now hold them, bear them, own. them. Grasping them even in our fragile souls. Thank you is the acknowledgement we at least hear and receive.

But we know it is much deeper and more complicated than that. It is a holy and sacred transaction.

And then there is the saying them ourselves. Two words. Unfurled from our tongues, released from our lips. Remembering to. Meaning to. Wanting to. Sending them out to others. Often. Authentically.

Yesterday we met some lively young women. And it was our privilege to pile them on our boat. We headed out to the secluded beaches of this Lowcountry coastline and basked in the glory that was the beauty of one summer day. The Patient one was at the helm and like all good captains he cared well for his charges. They delighted in every small detail of the day. Every shell they found, every glance at the horizon, nothing was lost on their porous souls. The day poured into them and they reflected back the joy in their countenance. Smiles of  delight from those a generation below us are contagious. And we remember to sing a song of wonder too.  At the end of the day, they turned, one in particular, and said thank you to their captain. For the day, for the adventure, for the journey. And that gray haired man,he lit up.  And he beamed a  boyish grin. One that gratitude and gratefulness can birth.

One of my favorite poets is John Blase of “The Beautiful Due” blog. A recent poem of his written forFather’s Dayspeaks to saying Thank You. In his straight forward and profound style of poetry, I found his words tucked  brilliantly into the gentle  lines of this poem. He  amplifies  the power of saying this to men. No  doubt it is important  to shower genuine, authentic gratitude on those who pour into our lives. But maybe I need to re-think the frequency of these words leaving my lips to my husband, among others.

This morning I turned to him and said quite simply, thank you for all you do to take care of us. It changed me. It changed him. Gratitude always changes us. The air in the room softened. The mood lightened. That Monday mood where everything wants to feel oppressive and needy and urgent, if we allow it. It felt kinder and gentler.

Thank you says we are blessed. Thank you says I love you. Thank you says your efforts are not in vein. They are appreciated. And they are beautiful.

We prayed on this Monday. And we thanked God.

And I am reminded how much I take for granted. How many times I have missed the lessons of my childhood. You could always just say thank you. 

We sat on the porch last night. Our souls rocking to the lapping of the Intercoastal Waterway, under the super moon, hair and skin kissed by  salted sea. We are molded by the gifts. And the discussion turns to how much manners matter to people. Small cultural nuances, like respect and gratitude, standing at the proper time for young men, saying thank you, helping others. We have heard these lessons all our lives. And the South won’t let up, in some small pockets. In our homes we are bearing down on good manners. Because respect and gratitude and a servant’s heart fall into the laps of appreciative adults. And sow good things.

God, please remind me to hear these lessons too. The ones we are trying to teach. Of saying with my lips what I feel in my heart. Of pouring out to others,  helping and serving. Of getting outside of myself and seeing and hearing a need in another. Of responding in love. Of living a life which reflects how grateful I am to be YOURS. To know you

And because I want you to know, Lord hear my thank you this summer Monday in the middle of June. Remind me to speak a vertical thank you always and to extend a horizontal thank you often. In love, in sincerity. Wanting nothing in return. A transaction of a pure heart. A grateful heart. A heart that knows you.

I want to always say thank you.  Not out of rote duty or empty cultural mores, not flowing from cliched patterns of speech or lessons of my youth.

I want to grow a thank you spirit in my home and in my very soul.

And then watch the changes that will occur in me and in the lives around me. Vertical, horizontal words of grateful praise.

Make my life a hymn of praise, in all the moments that are gratefully mine.

Joining Laura at The Wellspring and Michelle at Michelle de Rusha dot com and Jen for SDG