at the salon

Today
when I sat in the chair at the salon
to get my hair cut,
my mother sat in the chair with me
and looked at me in the mirror

And I smiled at her.

And as I sat in the pedicure chair
with water swirling around my feet,
she was not there
but her toes were
even though she could never bear
anyone touching her feet.
And I told the pedicurist
how all her grandchildren
have her toes-
Rose toes.

And I smiled.

just waiting for a train

The voices whisper just outside
my ability to understand their words
just like
when spirits would come and sit
in her desk chair or on the counter.
She would ask me who they were
and what they were saying
and I would have to tell her
I don’t know.
But we both knew they were there
even though she was
the only one who could see them.

So are they here to visit me?
Hanging out in the kitchen
or dining room
while I go about my day
doing the dishes and paying bills.
I wonder if there will be a bright light
to reveal them
as guides or tormentors or just
passers-by waiting at a station
for the next train.

a grace of cedars

January Bluebird

Take my hand
lets walk the soft path
under the old cedar trees

They are sacred, these mages, these venerable timbers,
hallowed by the desert mothers
and tiny finches dancing in their boughs
and pale angels who sing with them at dawn.

Ancient and holy, they accept your shallow breathing
and extend their grace to you
in emanation, ripe with incense.

Breathe deeply this exhalation, this glory,
as these solstice trees inhale your breath.
An offering, an honor, an acceptance,
a giving and a receiving
until your blood flows
with a resinous scent
purified by the synchronicity of spirit,
a grace of cedars.

dove

light house

my vision dims
first a film of misunderstood conversation
then it blinked out
like a light house flashing
warnings out to sea

I am wasting time
when there is so little left to waste
and there is a rustling in the pantry
where three blind mice live

and those oft told fairy tales
spring to life
but life does not hold many more springs
and it’s summer
and I am blinded by the light

warning me away from the rocks
and dangers on the shore

blackberry winter

berries blackberries blur close up

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Dull morning light bereft of warmth
fills in the corners
between spring
and blackberry winter.

The blooms, white against cold green leaves,
bramble along the rocky path,
armored with thorns
and protected by poison ivy
just finding its vigor.

Shivering anticipations of hot summer days
purpled with jeweled fruit
left by the chortling robins
and cobblers fresh from the oven.

except to say

Its a warm day in early May and
the small dog and I are sitting in the garden
occasionally pulling a weed or two.

I will get to the violets, whom
I love,
and the vinca, which I do not.
And pull them both out with a vengeance
They each have a calling for world domination,
violets sweetly, and I will tolerate,
But vinca, aggressive and vining,
too willing to smother and cover
everything in its path,
I will not.

I have decided to live in the garden
to stay in the green and growing world
with her loamy soil and deep shadow
under the redbud and maple trees.

The maples have formed their winged
seed helicopters, those we loved as children
tossing them as high as my brothers and I
could throw. Do you remember?

There is nothing here to nourish your body
just your spirit
and soul,

But we have springs and wells
of sweet water, soil sufficient for crops,
if asked nicely,
and the ridge is quiet with stars.

I don’t know why I am telling you this.

Except to say
if the final trumpet sounds
and you can find your way,
there will be room for you here.
Just bring some matches,
your grandmother’s quilt
and a favorite book.

It will be enough.

blessed be

Redbud

blessed be the hours of early morning
when the light seeps slowly across the water

blessed be that light
that fills the windows full open to the morning
breeze and the scent of resurrected green

blessed be that breeze
which scatters the blown petals
of dogwood and redbud trees
carpeting the garden path with bright confetti

blessed be those feet
whose boots track spent pink petals
across the just swept kitchen floor

blessed be that love
that fills this kitchen with heavens color
and sacred morning light

blessed be