Pieces

Broken bodies
Broken glass
Broken hearts
So many pieces to pick up
Although they may not be my own
They clearly lay in front of me
Scattered across the landscape
Of my city
Of my state
Of my country
Yet, love has not disappeared
It continues to weave
In and out of even the darkest days
Mingling with the broken pieces
Mending hearts
Mending lives
Mending souls
Offering flickers of hope
Amid feelings of despair
Showing us how to begin
Picking up the pieces

Hearts Breaking

Sometimes
Silence
Is not an
Option
Yet, this day
Words
Fall
Flat
And though
Emotions
Run
High
Attempts at
Expression
Feel
Numb
On this day
Notes
Speak
Loudly
Only as
Music
Plays
Softly
In this moment
It is my
Obligation
To hear
The cries
Of tired
Hearts
Breaking

First Loss
Album for the Young
Robert Schumann

Home to Home

I left home at the mature age of seventeen and, except for one summer, never came back. My mom often reminds me. 😉

Before college, I had lived in the same house my entire life. I attended the same school, first grade through senior year, and was surrounded by extended family.

And even though I needed to find my own path, the place where I grew up would always be home.

A recent visit with my parents caused me to think about the word home. Especially the idea that home has little to do with the actual place.

As I pulled up in the driveway, my dad was waiting under the carport. Mom came right out as if she’d been listening inside for my car. Soon, we were talking about everything from the kids to work, politics, church. And, of course, the pandemic and quarantine.

They’re so cute. ❤

As an adult, I enjoy this time alone with my parents. Being there by myself means my only role at that moment is a daughter. Even if this visit brought some adult daughter anxiety.

Due to the current pandemic, I had to be very careful about where I stopped on the four-and-a-half-hour drive from our house to theirs. My parents are over seventy, Mom a breast cancer survivor and Dad with diabetes and kidney disease. Their health is currently good, and I couldn’t bear the thought of exposing them to this virus.

My anxiety quickly faded as Dad asked, “How’s my little girl?” Mom said more than once, “I’m so glad you came.” At face value, simple phrases. Yet, they wrapped me in the love and security I experienced growing up.

When going to visit my parents, I say I am going home. And when it’s time to leave, I use the same phrase. I guess both are true. Home is about the people not the places.

I may have to leave tiny pieces of my heart behind when leaving one, but I know they will be refilled upon arrival at the other. Not the same, but new, and whole.

A sweet paradox, traveling from one home to another. ❤

Green Green Grass of Home by Claude “Curly” Putman, Jr.

The old home town looks the same
As I step down from the train
And there to meet me is my Mama and Papa…
It’s good to touch the green, green grass of home


Woven

Peace and love
Words that fit
Together seamlessly
But sorrow and happiness
Don’t belong in
The same line
Each word needs
Its own place
Fills its own space
Well, that’s how
It would be
In a perfect world
But the truth is
This world
Is not perfect
Honest reflection asks
If perfection should
Be my goal, anyway?
Without deep sorrow
Can there be
True happiness?
No simple answer
Only a mystery
One I must accept
Allowing its truth to
Sink way down deep
Into my soul
Where sorrow
And happiness
Are woven together
An unbreakable seam
Holding the fabric of
My heart in place


Writing Circles

I have so enjoyed participating in Ali Grimshaw’s writing circles. They are a positive time of listening, writing, and responding. I’m excited to have one of my poems shared today on her blog. Check it out along with Ali’s work at flashlightbatteries.blog

As I continue to lead writing circles, I am inspired by the hearts and generous listening of others. Every time I write with others I am changed and lifted by the experience. Here in this space I am calling, Poems from the Circle, I will be sharing poems written by participants of my writing circles. […]

Poems from the Circle — flashlight batteries – poetry

Twenty-Seven Years

Today is our twenty-seventh wedding anniversary. That sounds like a long time. Over half of my life.  

When I started thinking about our anniversary, my mind first went back to the day before our wedding. 

Family and friends together, lots of laughter. A simple rehearsal at Rolling Hills Church, dinner at AQ Chicken House, and the final episode of the T.V. series, “Cheers.”

My thoughts quickly moved forward through the wedding, honeymoon, raising three kids, all the places we have lived. It’s amazing how many memories can fill my mind in such a short few minutes. There are so many stories I could share.

But then, my train of thought changed. I didn’t need to write about the past. Nor did I need to think about the future. I only needed to focus on the day at hand. And what it signifies for us both.

This anniversary reminds me that forever is really about commitment. And that commitment has little to do with feelings. It is a promise that runs much deeper.

There is a phrase we often say to each other-You’re stuck with me! Yes, it is spoken in humor, but also carries truth. A truth understood from the day he proposed-this is forever. We are in it for the long haul.

Marriage has shown us our strengths and weaknesses. There is a balance created when we accept those strengths and weaknesses in each other. One would not be the same without the other.

I can’t imagine my life without Gart. Our journey has been quite an adventure. Filled with ups and downs, tears, and lots of laughter.

Here’s to twenty-seven years of marriage. I approach the day with a grateful heart. No worries about yesterday or tomorrow. Only resting in the promise that brought us to today.

Happy Anniversary, Gart! I love you! ❤

And don’t forget-you’re still stuck with me! 😉

This Road

The road
Once clear
Now obstructed
By unexpected
Roadblocks
Detours
Up ahead
Which way to go?

A new road
Comes into view
Along with
A new role
Not the one
Expected
Or desired-yet,
Gracefully accepted

Potholes trigger
Full stops…
But, gentle truths
Faithfully
Push forward
Erasing any
Thought of
Turning back

Moving ahead
A quiet whisper
Provides assurance-
Trust and follow
Nothing can take you
Out of my hand
Don’t turn back
This road is best

“See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are ever before me.” Isaiah 49:16

Take me Home, Country Roads by John Denver