WE MADE IT

And we made it.

Despite the icy touch of winter that

Slowly crept around the edges of our hearts

While it had sapped the trees of their summer beauty.

We held on knowing, hoping, that

The spring would melt our frozen cores.

And we made it.

Only to see the birth of a little girl into his life;

bringing more joy than I ever could.

Only to form hollow promises that neither one of us desired to hold.

And only to hear treacherous threats,

creating an emptiness is my soul that has yet to heal.

There was no mending the broken this time.

And so I made it.

Forging a new path amid the unfamiliar;

It had been so long that I walked alone.

Carrying with me the burdens I once bore,

I had absorbed experiences and scorched bonds

That I dared not confront again.

And so I made it; and time heals all.

Firsts are the hardest;

But despite my desolation, the ice did not reach my

Soul this time. I was slowly healing in the broken places

And there was no room for the winter chill

Because a new warmth was putting me back together.

Despite our scars, we found ways to complete one another.

And we made it.

SIMPLICITY

To me, the past reveals more simple times.
It feels today that things are more complex
although these complications are needless.
Instead, let’s return to playing outdoors.
The freedom beckons, calling like to old
friends from a distant past, a dream long gone.
Not knowing how good our lives were back then,
we never paused except to catch our breath.
Wasting days away in our cheerful bliss,
we failed to see it might not last forever.
After all, good things must come to an end.
One day, we grew up and realized it’s gone.
Complexity is now the tune we sing,
and that’s just the way the world goes around.

THIS IS HOME

A crisp November morning;

the air is the kind of fresh you can get only

from the middle of the woods.

The sun begins to peak its head

over the rolling landscape;

we drove in the dark for endless hours,

though reality says otherwise.

Flat roads that stretched infinitely

and winding curves that churned our empty stomachs.

Pulling into the secluded property,

the gravel shifts under the tires

as if encountering weight for the first time.

The recent rains have left soft ground,

and so we leave evidence of our arrival.

We pass the little pond;

the one cleaned time and again

in desperate hopes to create crystal waters.

The algae, though, has been hard work since our last visit,

and it shows progress in its attempt to once more

cover the pond.

For now, we ignore this losing battle

until Spring brings renewed energy to resume our efforts.

As we wind through the trees,

we trade out gravel to travel along the raw earth instead.

The clearing comes to view,

bringing with it the pitiful man-structure that remains.

Once a structural tribute to fine architecture,

it has since been reduced to two walls and a roof.

It stands there now for no better reason

than to save the time and energy it would take to tear down.

We exit the car, the final tie to our tame lives,

and we leave our worries safely locked within.

Inhale the fresh oxygen produced by surrounding trees,

we feel at home;

maybe more so here than in the houses we left behind

just a few hours ago.

This is my family’s land.

Two ridges stretch a little over a mile;

covered by grasses and vibrant wildflowers that

will bloom again in a few short months.

Orange, yellow, red, and purple.

The surrounding woods hold trees, both young and old.

Naked now, warm weather will once more clothe them in succulent green.

Carefully weaving between nature’s tall, bark guardians

are creek beds, littered with stones and rocks.

The consistently peaceful trickle of the crystal water

eases my soul; this is home.

FATHER’S DAUGHTER

His witty remark snapped at her;

taunting teasing loving

He glances at me,

winking looking

for some sort of response,

which he always knows I will give him.

This is my father.

I have always known him like this;

quick with comebacks

He turns on a dime,

serious one minute,

sarcastic the next.

And I just laugh at him;

my father who I reflect.

mirrorimage egamirorrim

I would not change it for the world.

I am my father’s daughter.

COUNTING THE STARS

the black abyss looms over us revealing glowing spots that burn

hot and fiery like our own sun too far away to touch

the bark guardians rustle and sway around us

as they dance in the warm breeze

the perfect gap in our natural enclosure opens to the sky

and we experience the atmosphere first hand

as a star decides to dance across our view

unhappy with its previous life

just looking for a change

my mouth smiles as you say this is your first

first shooting star, first love, first time feeling alive

and I smile

as I hold back the truth

that I am like the star and have danced away from a previous life

to the spot I lay now

this is not my first

though I wish to erase previous encounters

to fully share in your experience.

the moment longs to live forever yet expires like all others before it

the burdens of tomorrow grasp at us

successfully pulling away from this harmonious instance

life goes on

sometimes my mind wanders back to that night under the stars

when things were idyllic and we knew not the other’s flaws.

INSTINCTS

The glint of the gun causes momentary blindness and you blink
As the overweight official in crisp white speaks, “take your mark.”
You listen to the crush of white painted blades of glass as you move forward and poise
Like an animal about to pounce at the opportune moment.
The trigger is forced back and releases a powerful sound, interrupting the silence.
It’s time to lunge; every muscle, every thought, every moment echoes a purpose.
There is a quiet understanding that passes over you like a sense of peace.
You are one with nature as your lungs burn and muscles scream.
The body loudly protests the demands you make as you run.
The trees are silent observers and offer temporary distraction as you struggle to breathe
While thoughts become tormentors of inevitable failure and you falter.
The banner hangs ahead as a beacon calling you home to the finish and you surge.
Collapsing across the line you have passed the threshold of pain, and it’s no longer a barrier.
This is a never-ending cycle, an addiction, a runner’s high.
There is something extremely primitive about running, a natural instinct that you embrace.
Comprehension requires personal experience, and most others will never understand.

BROKEN

Lost.

Pitch-colored onyx stones are lubricated enough to give off a shiny reflection;

my own.

I struggle to find myself as the ribbons of atlantic green accompany shades of blue-gray

and beckon my return, pulling me deeper into their depths.

Only the glaring white frame of the pretty picture pauses me.

This white, marked with slightly pink etchings that dart in different directions, is not hypnotic.

The spell breaks.

Found.

I bring my own into focus as I look once more into your eyes.

You ask me why.

Those eyes once held such promise but now I see an empty nothing, barred entries to a barren soul.

I say nothing, what can placate the stale air around us?

Nothing can fill the vacancy of those slots that stare at me.

I was lost, I whisper.

Now you are too.

ALONE IN A WHITE WORLD

a thick blanket of white covers the ridge;
a first snowfall of the new year.
enough of these white flakes to make a uniform color,
not enough to prevent resilient grasses from poking up from under this icy newcomer. walking along the ridge I leave evidence of my existence,
perfect little prints from the sturdy work boots that shield my fragile feet from the brutal cold.
i spot a break in the snow,
the outline of some foreign object.
as I approach, the nature of the object reveals itself in an antler with three points.
i take off my mitten to pick up the recently master-less bony outgrowth,
bearing my raw skin to the biting wind and weather.
as my fingers begin to turn red with the fierce encounter, I grasp the cold antler.
the texture is a mixture of smooth surface and ridged base.
my thoughts turn to its previous owner.
deer are magnificent creatures.
oh, to be able to move silently through the woods, a careful observer of nature’s life.
i straighten up, stiff from keeping a crouched position for too long,
and glance at my surroundings.
the snow-covered branches of trees gently sway with the howling wind.
i know somewhere amongst their wooded haven;
deer are watching me with silent, questioning eyes.
if I were to spot them, they would surely be gone in an instant, as quickly and gracefully as they had come. As I make my observation, I listen.
somewhere in the near distance a patch of snow falls in a heap from an overburdened branch.
i gently turn over the smooth bone in my hands which have long ago turned numb with cold;
i, too lost in thought; have not noticed this loss of feeling.
i strain, trying to catch so much as a glimpse, or a whisper, of the deer’s presence, to know that I am not alone in this white world.