Simply Sunday

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Purple Blanket

You stood in the
tall green grass
Its blades almost
above your head

I wasn’t sure if
I’d see you again
in light of current
proposals for change

Changes in the name
of progress, of course
Giving little consideration
to your fragile forest home

Your mom stands steady
near the tree line’s edge
Her gaze fixed on you as
your head tilts and ears perk

She is still and quiet
while you explore
Always curious about the
world outside of your own

And I watch, grateful to see
you, Doe and Fawn, securely
wrapped in the soft, pale
purple blanket of morning

Front of Mind

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So many chapters
Various themes
woven throughout

Some short-lived, only
a chapter or two
Others ebb and flow

From forefront
to background
to memory

And then there are those…

Able to move from
back of mind to front
in an instant, saying

Hey! Remember me?

Themes that create
identity, meaning,
and connections

Today, I am the girl
sitting at the piano

I think I’ve been missing her

Blackbird-The Beatles Kelley Morris, piano
Dust in the Wind-Kansas Kelley Morris, piano
Far Away-James Taylor Kelley Morris, piano

Simply Sunday

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Butterfly

Some would say her
emergence mirrors
our beginnings

Damp wings gently
fluttering to dry
before taking flight

But I would argue her
flight more closely
mirrors our ending

For she has already
journeyed from leaf to
twig, across blades of grass

Over terrain, smooth and
rough, picking up bits
of life all along the way

Eventually wrapping
herself in so many layers
no room remains for living

Only room for reflection-
Like that required for
our final transformation

Leaving behind the shell
that faithfully held us
to the end of our journey

When our spirit, like the
newly flown butterfly,
experiences true freedom

Never Forget

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A morning walk with
a friend as the kids
played nearby,
oblivious to the
world outside

Until we arrived home,
flicked on the T.V. and
watched as peace was
destroyed in an instant

Images of planes,
and buildings, and
smoke, and fire filled
our small living room

We watched
as the towers fell
unable to completely
comprehend the destruction

Hours later, kids in tow,
accompanied by friends,
I sat at a piano in a
nearby nursing home

Playing and singing hymns
through tears, in hopes
of calming fears-
The residents’ and my own

I will never forget

9/11 Memorial

Until it was Time

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Nobody told me
how much I would miss you
Maybe they assumed I knew
Common sense and all

But common sense is not
the same as preparation
And missing you is something
I couldn’t prepare for anyway

I suppose they were
trying to do me a favor
A way to enjoy time with
no thoughts of finality

If I even believe in time

Truth is, I already knew
No warning needed
I knew, just kept the
knowing buried deep

Buried deep
until it was time
to remember both
the happy and the sad

Simply Sunday

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TRY AGAIN

The drought spreads
dry, dusty air
into my lungs

Seeps under my skin
Hardens my heart
Oppresses my soul

I search for
A sip of water
A drop of rain

Any semblance of relief
I know it exists

That kind of help
already at work
before you even
know it is needed

A light breeze
carrying a cloud
A heavy cloud
releasing the rain

I try to sing
but the words
get caught
in the back
of my throat

You quietly whisper
I am here. Try again

One note carries another
and soon, a melody emerges
from a time long gone-
Restoring body, heart, mind, and soul

“He hides my soul in the cleft of the rock that shadows a dry, thirsty land.” Fanny Crosby

Carried Home

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White and wispy
they floated upward
from the horizon
into the wide blue

Like snowy doves
wings spread wide
in a recurring
pattern of flight

Worries that held
tight to my heart
began to fade-

Not withdrawing
but loosening their grip

Funny how peace occupies
the most curious spaces
requiring only moments
before offering relief

I may have been
driving my car
but it was the clouds
that carried me home

The Daffodil and Me

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Buried deep in the earth
surrounded by fertile soil
a cycle of moisture
and warmth from
an unseen source above

Encouraging the tiniest of stretches

Baby roots begin
to reach while
grounded- In chorus,
ready to follow
an unknown path

The hard work of
seed to sprout-
The patience of
bud to flower
while weathering storms

Until the sun affectionately
lifts her lovely face
toward the sky
begging the question

What comes next?

This poem is from my collection The Space Between Clouds.

Simply Sunday

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IN THE CLOUDS

Posed on a calm
quiet breeze
or shouted
in frantic storms
the question remains the same

Do you see me?

My soul longs
to slow down
to be still
Locking my eyes on
the whole of you

Do you see me?

Recognizing the purpose
provided in your design
whether serene or inclement
Answering your question
as you answer mine

Yes! There you are! I see you!