April 7, 2011 - Canvas in Three Dimensions

darkness. empty. canvas in
three dimensions.
We breathe our lives.
Our souls, onto it.
Into it.
A prayer.
A wish.
A hope.
Vision comes ~
Lights Up.
A joining.
Molding words into
form, together.
Weaving, blending.
Assorted a-ha’s
bloom via laughter.
hurt. gentle coaxing.
Tantrums.
Negotiation.
Restoration. movement.
breath.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat?
Nod. Repeat.
We do this
over and over.
again, over.
darkness. empty. canvas in
three dimensions.

See more progress on: participate in napowrimo 2011 (a poem a day in April)

Gratitudes on April 7, 2011

I am grateful for the fun time with the high five photos around town

I am grateful for Samuel’s book fair and my continued presence on campus. Samuel said this morning he wishes I could come every day. Bittersweet.

I am grateful for my cell phone. How I love it. Crazy, I know.

I am grateful for the night blooming trees in my neighborhood.

I am grateful to have a relatively open day. Thinking a picnic and time with the ducks is in order.

I am grateful for Samuel’s improvement.

I am grateful for the enormous thank you card from the kids at Independence High’s Writing Camp last week!

I am grateful for this place, to list my gratitudes, even though I am not here as often these days.

See more progress on: Daily: Reflect on at least 5 things for which I'm grateful (Happiness Manifesto #2)

The Yellow Arrow

I missed the green arrow

when I raised my eyes

from the memory minestrone

the yellow arrow had spoken,

“Too late.”

It was a different airport.

Flight: Phoenix to LAX.

Southwest. Bargain basement

lure of “Stay Close! Come.

Come close. Here. With me.”

Phone rings in the

used-to-be-my-Hollywood-

apartment. He had fallen.

Asleep. Wasn’t on his way.

Yet, to the airport.

I waited. A pink and

white floral jumpsuit,

watching a parade of

taxis and shuttles for

people who hadn’t fallen

asleep. Who had arrived

on time.

Now, decades later. Different.

Stewed tomatoes replaced

jumpsuits and celery urban

apartments are swept clean.

No more blonde hair, no more

company cars, no more waiting.

Closeness is avoided.

“Stay away! Go!

Go away. Go. From me.”

The yellow arrow had spoken.

Too late.

See more progress on: participate in napowrimo 2011 (a poem a day in April)