Come now and rest

trees and sky

The trees are welcoming me back
and the dust from which I was created
my flesh, failing me from too many nights
no sleep, too many words, not kept
and my lack of care has brought me here

The dirt says–come now, be still
rest here where no one will harm
I am soft and forgiving; I will not push back
when you lay over me seeking rest
your heart stilled by serial killers–

The ones we know, we all know
take your soul and they won’t let go
moving on to others, despite my best effort
to hold them here, but I tired, got so tired
leaves surround me, weaving a blanket

The sky watches, the clouds in their misty wisdom
call upon the Father to bless. I know
He sees all, he sees me, when I long for home
and home’s not best. Don’t fail me now
warm hay, soft fur. Take me back

where I came from, take me back
where I was born, this pure, safe place
bring me back to forest,
and dust and dirt
and home

*

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”
Matthew 11:28

*

Advertisements

snow tree under light

Night has returned
to comfort me
after a decidedly
uncomfortable day

Sweet winter night
offering darkness
for a cloak
and shadow confidants

Monday Random: crunch time

  • How do you act under stress?
  • Do you take it out on others or do you internalize the struggle?
  • Do you simply get to work and work doubly hard to complete the task well?
  • Do you crumble and cry in a corner?
  • The time for the craft show has come. It should be that craft show, or this craft show, but it is simply dubbed ‘Thee craft show’, which I think is a mistake now, considering expectations and hopes riding on one day
  • Everyone knows you rarely break even on the first show
  • If it rains, all bets are off
  • We keep coming back to the calm place and saying, it’s okay if we don’t make money the first time (lies, all lies)

Continue reading “Monday Random: crunch time”

Decollated

In my blindness a friend came to me
the sound of his voice low
as if he had sat on his legs
like a child

He was an intermittent talker
though he knew more than my brothers
about my life. habits. inclinations.

I found ready ears a welcome thing
exhausted with the putting up of jars
season after season

What he did not know
was that there was no one to post to me anymore
and even he had forgotten my name

But I could live with that
mulling over eras of happiness
and subsequent pergatories

Until he asked
with hands to his hips
‘How did you lose your head?’

And the elephant in the room
kicked through the door, leaving
through the garage as if he’d had enough

My hands lifted in prayer
or charades
each part of me pawned off

For when I could no longer sing for my supper
losing so much
that I ended up in this peaceful state

Until someone came ’round to remind me
there was nothing left
above the shoulders

There was a time
I wore depression like a housecoat
and nothing could penetrate it

Today
it is a companion
who always wants to come along
but I leave him home
to stir the pot

Monday Random: Let’s talk about depression

  • My husband has Mondays off, so Tuesdays are like Mondays for me; and yesterday was an impossible day to write this, so don’t worry, you did not go back in time
  • We’ve all heard the news this past week, like other weeks in the past, when someone takes their own life, or more than one someone
  • When suicide is in the news, some people on the news will talk about asking for help if you are in trouble, and others will talk about talking about it too much, that it will create copycats
  • I actually do believe that the latter can be true, as I think back to a time in my life where I romanticized suicide
  • There is nothing romantic about it, and I tend to avoid literature where it does seem to be the climax of the film and something very hopeless that had no other choices
  • This is not to say that we should not talk about it, hell no!
  • Hell no!
  • It is the secrecy that sometimes makes it oh, so easy, when no one knows to come and help
  • Or maybe you have been talking, and not felt listened to. And then there is that person who says, ‘it’s only a cry for help.’
  • Really? What does that tell you?
  • Yep, I’ve been through all the stages. The last stage was about fifteen years ago, when I promised my children that throwing in my cards was no longer on the table.
  • But I will say that this past week when I heard about the third suicide in as many days, that I started contemplating things
  • Then I told myself, ‘Stop it!’ ‘Quit it!’
  • Depression lies
  • So does fear

Continue reading “Monday Random: Let’s talk about depression”

I have
disappointed you

all the brilliant colours
in the rain
run off
to reveal doldrums
I have tried to be rid of
for decades

give me a chance
maybe

it takes longer than you
counted on
but being here
that is, as they say
possession
is nine-tenths of some law
that could apply to us

because I am still here
and still yours

Letter from the sanatorium

When Monday comes you’ll be doing what you do
what you always do. A productive day
even if you daydream on the way
during drive-through coffee
or heart murmur’d traffic, a world
I left behind, responsible and hectic

Yet, you meet me where I am
in a sink full of dishes that does not end
looking out the window at a world
that is not always a friend
reading books that show me
a thousand worlds

I am not sad–so don’t you feel bad
only keep on covering me
in that sweet veneer
in times like this friendship is dear
when I’m waiting on rain and it just won’t come
brushing my hair with silence instead of a comb

When Monday arrives smelling good in your suit
I’ll be cleaning up from Sunday
and tucking away loot
a dollar in an envelope a fiver in the drawer
under my panties, in my socks
what am I keeping it there for

I’ve got this inclination–
call it a whim call it a dream
I’ll check out of here someday
a momentary gleam–of fantasy
and thoughts of luck
and saving every solitary buck

So when I get enough of them
I’ll find contentment
looking like a friend

No man’s land

I set up camp there
when my world is too much
and yours is unreachable
I build my safety net there
even though you never
asked me to

(your claim is full disclosure)

What do I need?
I don’t remember, as I have
learned to do without
this ground
with its rotting and wounded
feels oddly safe

Affection would be nice
after all this time
but I can get myself off
like any other day
and I hear you say ‘no’
not that kind of touch

The touch of lips on a heart
injured and bleeding

(no man left behind?)

shelter

escaping from the wicked stew
that is the world around me
making me crazy in circles
with all they expect
I am here in my hiding place
where I find light and warmth
and no one tears my hair out
fairies brushing it until it shines
growing in the hope that
when I re-enter the world
I will bring this light with me