parable

dreams are given to us for a reason

but for what reason do I dream of that worst day with her

finding her covered in filth and weakness

and sadness at the state of the world

then the panic

I felt that heat filled panic in the dream

of wanting to run fast across the water until I find a hollow place to hide

but I woke and reminded myself that I steadied my voice

and gently washed her body

and cleaned her bed

And together we cried

and forgave God for teaching us these parables

of love and ashes

dominos

a door opened to the past

bringing the scent of White Shoulders

and honeysuckle soap from lives lived a long time ago

memories sweet as perfume are all I keep

tucked into linen handkerchiefs edged in lace

I no longer open the door to sadness

or welcome grief when it comes to call

Instead, I send them off with stories of Grandmere’s buttermilk biscuits

Mamma’s stirrup cake covered in hot fudge

and laughter at the snap of dominos on the dining room table.

Happy Easter!

Image

i thank You God for most this amazing day
By e e cummings

i thank You God for most this amazing day:
for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginably You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

in-between time

Dusk lingers on this early Spring evening

before Easter vigil begins,

the time in-between life and death

and life again.

I cover the tender lettuces again

to save them from certain death.

Life is that way, isnt it?

A cycle of little deaths, after life, after death

and then the sun shines again

and we all raise our arms to the sky

giving thanks for today

before the in-between time

begins again.

April fool

we are all April fools

are we not

when chill winds blow upon the water

cascading spent blossoms of pink and white confetti

into the sunlit air

how could we have been so suckered in

by that impossibly warm day in March when the ground

was covered in violets and the bees were already

at their dance

April smiles wide in her buttercup gown

all sunshine and pheromones and sweet kissed skies

as we cover the tender lettuces

with old sheets and pillow cases

to soften her frosty night

one more time.