Shuffling on the dry balls of your padded paws.
Impermanence, your affliction.
Hard exacting breaths from decades of sauntering.
Protesting each movement to fling earth’s weight from your mind.
The weight must land elsewhere.
No more burning up the open plains.
Alive with dullness.
You, a bitter lioness.
Working bones unasked for fractional effort.
Heart wanting recompense from both moon and sun.
Roaring from miles away at injustices served.
Laying waste to shared land.
Sour notes break into others’ dreams.
The bitter lioness will disappear.
Upon the shrinking sands, an old lion slaughters its cubs.
And all other reminders of its imminent death.
Lioness after Lunch/Prisma
not entirely welcoming her long life
managing through the tedious days
not advocating movement
yet refusing to die
and unwilling to live
joyful of her slow moving parts
each day, an experience to be relished
zest and nectar swallowed
refusing to die
and unwilling to desist
exhausted from her 1 am outing
anxious and thrilled
riding youth’s learning curve
refusing to slack
and unwilling to fail
fierce observer of love
rallying the weak
cheering the intrepid
guiding the pliable
unwilling to rest
she waves wishes and dreams their way
hopes and prayers each night
every woman’s existence
their journey of choices
beneath her daughter’s pillow, like a fairy’s quarter
to hide every chance
she never took…
Caroline Hands Crossed
my beautiful daughter is graduating high school this evening
as I watch her and the older folks very close to me move about their lives
I realize how many choices continue to present themselves each day
the choice to push your body when it’s in pain
the choice to give in and give up
the choice to have a new, fabulous life
the choice to realize you can’t help those unwilling to help themselves
I wish for my daughter all the wonderment of life
may she be happy, may she never fear this world
and congratulations to all whose children are graduating
another day granted
to gaze at the sky above
from the earth below
woke this morning with these words in my head
artwork previously published
The warm door sweeps across the welcome mat
light spills out the snow-stained windows onto the walkway
It’s cold out there in the dark
familiar laughter seeps out the cracked seals
like chimes in the wind
beautiful images tucked into the pockets of her travel coat
The warm door gently closes
she walks above the snow
and slips away into the night
moonlit chimes accompany her slippered feet
her thin hands slide into her travel coat pockets
caressing the memories
as the walkway disappears
May you dream of your warmest memories and hold them tight…
For Aunt Nina