Lemon Pie Blues

Today hurt bad like cuts on my fingers
then slicing lemons for hours
your face, always disappointed, and
I would like to be the girl
to bring light to your eyes

How do I explain why it hurts more
to be misunderstood than kicked
honey, how I wish I could have you here
to protect me now
because I am feeling low

Feeling tired and wondering why
I never fit into this world of woe
come Sunday everything
is going to feel alright
praise God on Sunday we will dance

and give happiness one more chance
come Sunday
everything is gonna feel alright

Spring cleaning

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For years I felt superstitious about Spring
inheriting this little quirk
due to the early deaths of Grandma, Granddad, and Mother
and her grandmother
on dates of the third thrice, then the thirteenth

Spring on its own swept away such fears, this year
with green, with growth, and with hope
looking upward through apple blossoms
at clouds and endless blue skies
watching nature pair off in love

and despite my dark thoughts
I may not die on the third

but I will shave my legs on the second
just in case

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I dislike epilogues, especially when they are longer than the poem, but I felt like sharing this, to explain. Years ago my grandmother’s mom died on December 3rd, and my grandpa died on March 3rd 7 years later. After that she became very morbid and superstitious, feeling dread the 3rd of every month. When she died on April 3rd seven years later it really got to me and I inherited that superstitious nature on the 3rd of each month, and really dreading the spring. My mother passed away on April 13 several years ago, and that laid me outright.

Last year, some things I thought would never improve started to get better in my life and I found some new hope. I owe it to God because I would never have climbed out of that deep pit on my own. Spring became so beautiful and I just couldn’t stop taking pictures. I felt real joy, even handling my mom’s death anniversary in a ‘normal’ way, whatever normal is. I used to kind of disappear on that day.

I love that spring has come back to me. Autumn is beautiful and will always be my favourite season, but despite the beauty it is a season when things die, and I have started to appreciate life, which spring illustrates in countless ways. We’ve only been into spring 5 days, and it’s cold here, but I am excited as the season is starting again. I feel hope. That is the cause for adding humour to the last part of the poem. It seems that every time we pull out of a bad time, humour is part of the healing. So I cling to it. Smiling, laughing, hopeful thoughts. Thank you for listening.

-Rose

Come now and rest

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, some of us 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

Sum of my parts

(2015)


I was composed by
Dickinson and Poe
Ingalls and Alcott
Cummings and Keats;
A pen with the ink of
Matthew, Mark, Luke
John, Ringo, George
And Paul, the apostle;

Shaped by the lashes
of a leather belt
and overcooked vegetables
with Sunday roast, and
endless vats of gravy
poured into cups

put food on the pain
eat until you’re stuffed;

Composed by Rock of Ages
What a friend we have in Jesus
sung by saints and the
pure-of-heart-
wife-beaters-closet bigots
friends and adulterers;

Unexpected kindnesses
wrapped in Jean Naté
and Chanel No. 5
a soft, wrinkled hand
with hard candy
wrappers that crinkled
during the prayer;

Constructed by long rainy walks
endless nights without sleep
teachers that saw through me
a welcome friend
in the middle of the heat;

Each cell, every organ complete
I won’t deny any of them
for to remove the painful limbs
would cause the others
to fall apart;

So I walk on
head up-chin out
this is me
take me or leave me
this is who I am
a sum of my life

Until I am done
I’m coming Grandma
some day-to sit next to you
and hear the rest of the stories

Of how we were all
written-prodded
stewed, and shoveled
into what we are





Lighter

sunrise 4.jpg

Why do I walk around as if bricks
are still on my shoulders, this
same God that knows the birds
knows me

And I walk on – living
as if I am one stranded
but he still loves –
he loves

There is no one who can remove me
from this eternal love
no man with the strength
to overcome it

So how can my heart stay chained
that same burden slipped off my back
lying here on the ground
to step over –
to walk on