Proof of Living

My hands are beginning
to remind me of Mom’s-
Her hands remind me
of Grandma’s

Skin grows thinner
Simple bruises turn
unreasonably large and
take longer to heal

But wear and tear is
proof of living life
to its fullest, right?

And our hands serve as
an extension of our hearts

When my fists unclench
Anger is easily released
When my hand lingers,
gently holding yours,
hurts quickly disappear

An excess of love
and kindness
graciously offered
as precious proof

A beautiful paradox-
Strength in weakness

Simply Sunday

Pulseline

Sometimes, relief for
anxious hearts is held
in surprising places

Have you ever sat
in a chair beside
the hospital bed of
someone you love?

The steady beep
of a heart monitor
mapping the tempo
of each precious breath

The gentle curves
of a stable pulse line
repeated over and over
reporting all is well

Peace surfaces alongside fear

I have experienced
this peace at other
times, in other places

A morning row of clouds,
their gentle undulation
performing a steady beat
underneath the warmth
of a brilliant sunrise

A skyline of treetops
grown together through
storms, their silhouette
a uniform motif of peace
painted across the horizon

Sometimes, relief for
anxious hearts is held
in surprising places

Peace surfaces alongside fear

Simply Sunday

Let Me Out

Plan in place
Appointment
Scheduled
Released
Set free
Headed
Home
Freedom
Sleep
In your
Own bed
Happy
Relieved
Thankful
One day
At a time

After more than a week in the hospital, my sweet dad was released this afternoon. They let me out! He called me from the car. Told me exactly what road they were on. Said they would be home after a quick stop at the pharmacy.

His case is complicated. So many factors. But today, we are grateful for a plan that allowed him to go home. I hope to visit very soon. ❤️

So Much More…

So much
Talk
Of rights
Not yours
In companion
With mine
No, mine or yours
Exclaimed
Over and over
IN ALL CAPS
Making certain
Everyone knows
And no one
Disagrees

How lonely
It must be
Concerned only
With oneself
Not interested
In truly loving
Another
Or in understanding
That our hearts
Are Capable
Of beating
The same rhythm
At any given
Moment in time

Another poem from a recent writing circle with Ali Grimshaw. https://flashlightbatteries.blog/. You never know what’s going to show up on the page. And the critical voice is not invited. Love this process! ❤️