The Stranger

Fear crawls on her belly
out of the current of ignorance
and through the shadows of doubt
with a knife clutched in her teeth.

Just like in the movies,
she is stronger than you expect,
silently plotting her way
into the peaceful life

you hoped
to find in a small,
yet cheerful, cottage of comfort.

Breathe through the discovery
that she is right there with you
and closer than you could have ever
imagined.

Hands on my Hips

Some days when I stand
hands on my nude hips
in the cape of a towel
over the slope of my shoulders
and stare at the blemishes,
deep scars,
and imperfections of time,

this old and leaking ship
of a body says to me
in the honest mirror,

 "Go home."

Knowing that there are only
so many calendars pages to turn
until I have used this one up;

I count the days,
one precious sunrise at a time,
and can't help
but smile
as I give them all
away with so much joy.

Not Soon Enough

My memory chirps
with the days I was limp
from heat
and waiting for
the last flutters of robin red
or flash of blue birds

A gull in the turned fields
and the smell of the earth,
fresh after harvesting the last hay,
makes so much sense
on the top of the rake
pulled behind the old International.

I welcome the crunch of leaves
and the chill that has me
hightailing it
under the thick layers
of blankets
and early nightfall.

Mirage of Myself

The fall comes to these hills
draped in the red leaves
of the whispering trees.

Even with these voices
I am lonely
and as parched
as the shimmering
mirage of myself
I have become
after summer's tiring heat.

Who would I be if not filled
with these forgotten sands
of the desert?

Courage now
let's me cross alone
with nothing to guide me
but the stars and words
I can barely remember.

Prayers for loving
rise up
and the moon
gathers them gently
to her abundant breast
and blows cool
on the cruel burns
left by the
sun.

A Cup of Tea

Place your palm gently
on the curve of my cheek
as you tell me another story.

I can see that your fingers are crooked
and screeching with constant ache
of joints that have done
many hard days of work.

At this small table
with a cloth as bright as morning,
I will spoon honey
into your tea
and forgive you for your distance--

remind you how far
you have wandered
away from the place
that was always meant to be
your home.

Sunrise II

Stir these prayers
until they bond with
all the villains
and struggles of the day
and help me to understand

where I begin
and where I end.

Is it my hand that stops
the touch of a child from getting in?

Is it my ears that have forgotten
the tune of a favorite old song?

Is it my eyes that won't see the words
that were written to give relief
and comfort?

Is it my mouth
that speaks words
that are empty
like a vessel barren
of hope?

I am the hurt
that we all carry
heavy from the fields.
I am the tears
on the face of a dirty
and hungry child.
I am the confusion
and longing
in the heart of a lover
left alone to find
herself.
I am the insult,
the ignored joy;
the laughter
never shared.

I press my palms together
and bow my head
in thanksgiving.

The guilt
for the anger
that crosses my day
slows me down
long enough
to catch my breath,
to look up from
my feet on the path,
and to really see the sun
rising.

Sunrise I

On this day
that has risen to the top
of joy
like cream
on mornings at the farm

I drink deeply,
swallowing the comfort
of a clear mind,

climb to the top of a hill
where I can see the horizon
and the seam
where sky meets
the edge of the day

and smile
knowing the smooth
line will slide
with nearly no resistance

into tomorrow.