Paris Comes To Me

night on the water

Paris Comes To Me

And not even if the boat were bigger

Nor if the moon was  any rounder

Not if the air was any crisper

Could this night  be more splendid

We agreed it felt like Maine, though we have never been

So much of what we know and love will only be here

We may not pack a bag or sail away

Even for our 25th

But if we stay right here, exceedingly content is my middle name

I wear it on the nights like this

And you are owl and I am the pussycat off in a pea green boat

But ours is shades of blue

No small detail is lost on us

This night

For though I dream of Paris

To walk the streets I did for a year in  ’78 and ‘ 79

I could not breathe in

More fragrant joy than

This

Place that feels like mine

What I inhale  in this small creek into every pore and place

Ours

The one that spills with laughter, wine and wind

Love into the waterway

Under skies all shades of grey, pink peeks out, the sun and moon wink and nod

And we go home and wonder

One to the other

Could it be more magical than this

I long now for the nights

When Paris came to me

Pluff mud, shrimp boats, and clammers returning with their haul

These are not the Seine or my Boulevard Malesherbes

Maybe home was meant to hold you

And tie an  anchor to your soul

Love so blind we could not leave

Only off  each night in our petite  blue boat

Exceedingly content, my middle name

Before the one you gave to me those 25 years ago.

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Love, Lent, And Letters From The Village (Day One)

After an unplanned sabbatical from writing, I am beginning  anew today  with a series dovetailing the Lenten season. I hope you will walk with me through these days leading up to Easter as I write in the form of letters. Both poetry and prose. But each day a letter expressing prayers, deep searching, mediations of the heart, wonderings, wanderings and an exploration of grace. Grace in the everyday. 

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I have become increasingly drawn to the beauty of the art of letter writing. Its intimacy, its romantic vehicle for reaching the soul of another calls me to seek and know more.  The beauty found in writing tender thoughts from one to another intrigues me. And so I want to explore the art form here in a series entitled “Letters From The Village.”  Happily, I am spending some time in a small shrimping village. This is a place I have known and loved for a long season of my life. Hidden here are memories of marriage, raising three children and celebration upon celebration with friends. Tucked away. Folded in. Wrapped in the salty soil of this place. And so there is deep meaning and significance in beginning these letters to you from “the village.”  That you will open and read, break the wax seal on each is gift. The first is penned on Valentines Day and  is being written from the heart of this place. 

It is my hope and prayer that the art of grace will set the tone as we walk through the holy days of Lent, preparing for Easter and the sacred days waiting for celebration in Holy Week.

There is a thinness, sparseness woven in these days. A dignified seriousness to the pulse and cadence of these moments. The beat is sacred. The breathing measured. Breathe deep the grace of Lent.

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Dear Patient One,

I write to you on Valentines Day, a poem, the first in a series entitled “Letters From The Village.”

May others discover more of their story in reading some of ours.

Love,

elizabeth

Waves of Grace

We washed up here years ago
Its been years since we first
Drove up and saw that Hugo water marked wall
And fell in love
It was potential we saw
And knew a life could be built

We came back here after tears before them too
And fell for it and each other
We kept coming back
Wave on wave of worry
Left at the entrance
We rocked under the moon and stars

You drove a nail and held that hammer
And we drove kids down
We packed a bag
And fled the mundane
To discover the extraordinary in this ordinary
Life has a way of repeating

Like the scavenger gulls that cry
We have 
And laughed and lost our way
On that sea
A time or two
And now only
A year or so remains they grew

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Joining Emily and my community at Imperfect Prose on Thursday’s for today’s word prompt LOVE