« April 2011 | Main | June 2011 »
outlines of where his left
foot walked, forward and wet, soon to be erased as his presence was no longer there Meaningless square swirl, non-language non-symbol just his shoe his him-ness she stood, watching the wetness wait for her seeing to catalog and question her next step
God's safe house for battered
weary spirits wasn't hers anymore
on that day it happened.
Shame crept up her toes her calves
Quickly sweeping across her chest
Her name is Lost.
I see Lost eyes
As they held the Other's
Voice shouteing"Wrong"
in the silence canyon
between them
sorrow sputtered and
burned then while
embers crackle
years later
the memory lives
"Not a good idea"
followed by Lost's name, sound
Which she still hears, each
vowel stuffed syllable
Her name is Lost
Infant apology
born as breath
burning through
her throat
now a hobbling
elderly soul, "Sorry"
Lost, long left this
supposed safe house
of someone else's
God
the what happened
next is missing
just as the Other's name
sits on someone
else's recollection
rather than on the
speckled green laminate
floor where Lost
memory still lives
His knee, bent, using
my thigh as a resting
place is his
"I love you" as
together we come to
the end of
this week
our inhale, our exhale
our chewing the only
sounds to interrupt
this shared silence
this sacred-anti-loudness
Moments later he plays
briefly and we catch each
other's eyes through the
window separating us
his smile, caught
so sincerely, covers my
eyes in the kisses his
mouth refuses to give
the insistent lingering
so intense my eyes
respond with trembling
saltiness that requires
my face to turn
My heart grows, Grinch-like,
If his bent knee and if his
unmasked smile are the
only "I love you's" I
ever hear? It is so
much more
than
enough.
(photo courtesy of My Electric Sheep under a Creative Commons licensing agreement.)
Your Choice
On my writing porch
I smell the frozen pizza
heating up
I hear the train whistle
a mile away
surging along the
tracks and I think
about poetry
and word-love
reading Denise
Levertov knowing
my word combinations
are child's play
in comparison
"pomp advancing"
she writes,
"pursuing the
fallen sun" she
muses while
thoughtlessly
today, I drove
into the sunrise
proclaiming it
bland, typical, flat
less writable than
the lusty clouds
of yesterday
Denise would
have seen it
and wrote it with
so much more
panache
in frustration
I walk to the
kitchen, shoulders
bent forward, shoelaces
untied I elect
to be careful rather
than bend down
to tie them
the frozen pizza
isn't completely
thawed yet
so I return to
feeling miserable
in comparison to
(and leave it
at that, to either
frustrate the reader
or make her smile.)
Your choice
Follow me on Twitter: @JulieJordanScot
Did you enjoyed this poem? Receive poetry and essay emails directly to your inbox for free from Julie Jordan Scott via the Daily Passion Activator. One inspirational essay and poem (almost) every week day. Subscribe here now -
Somehow my underlying stress/worry has vaporized the moment I left Samuel's new school and this morning I am finding my way back to what soothes me. Morning pages, poetry prompts and this: Magpie Tales photo prompts.
Here is my attempt to write in a way that honors this man, one of my saint-heroes.
sweet singing ones
know without question to nestle in the folds of I wonder how I could adopt the concept of the liturgical, everyday into fashion without looking completely unconventional newsflash, we ~ you and I are not so instead I nestle into the vestments of not knowing and pray to listen to the hearts beating
your vestments
between the furrows
Follow me on Twitter: @JulieJordanScot
Did you enjoyed this poem? Receive poetry and essay emails directly to your inbox for free from Julie Jordan Scott via the Daily Passion Activator. One inspirational essay and poem (almost) every week day. Subscribe here now -
