Sunday Chapel

Afternoon, a walk in the woods, I feel
the pull and pinch of past life struggling
to resurface, like springtime new growth.

I stop beneath a pair of oak trees stripped
by the winter, release my gloved fingers
wanting a campfire to relieve the itch
and ache of cold – or other hands to hold.

Over the crest, a break in the water
signals a short thaw giving me some hope
Spring will soon melt away the dreary grey.

The adventurous partner in this pair
he goes ahead of me searches, explores,
finds wonder in just about everything.

A glance over shoulder as if to ask
permission to venture farther away
he smiles when I nod, and he runs. I walk.

A slower pace to practice my breathing
– slow and steady, in through the nose, and out
through the mouth. Deliberate meditation
in our Sunday chapel by the river.



The Bathroom Window

She watches water slide down the window,
steam from heat fogged the glass. Tracing a drop,
she draws patterns in the condensation;
random words, lines, symbols without meaning.

The meditation, the rhythm brings her
peace – allows her mind to wander away
into the corners of her brain. She looks
at images she had thought forgotten.

Eyes opened once more, memories begin
to evaporate, their vapor rising
from the cooling water. Pressing her palm
to the glass pane, she erases her scrawl.

The only evidence of her day dream –
a palm print left on the bathroom window.



Music and Wine

Bottle bleach blond in tight black jeans hangs on
to the man she’s with while her hair flip flirt
attracts attention from across the room.

A quartet of young things waltz in without
a man among them – drinking something sweet –
more concerned with gossip than the music.

A future bottle blonde snuggles her man,
adjusts her sweater vest to advantage.
simulates cleverness and then giggles.

None of them listen to the lyrics, none
appreciate the guitarist’s efforts,
or the variations of the trumpet.

She absorbs the sounds, captures images
in her mind; one artist to another.


Forgotten Enough

Each stroke becomes a slap, the sting of words
bruises flesh just caressed; desire’s ache
turns to ire and passion dissipates.
Her body is, being freely given
to him,
questioned at its curves. Attraction
seen in another’s eyes sparks suspicion.

Platitudes of trust ring hollow, she is
faithful; he has few doubts, it’s not in her
he sees deceit – so he says.  Be patient.
Past lives haunt them with cruel memory;
each has given, only one forgiven
(or forgotten) enough to start anew.

Yesterday’s misery destroys today,
they pay the price of loving and losing.


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and those will go on forever…

She thought they were finished, over and done
now she finds him on the periphery.
An invisible thread, unbreakable,
binds them together longer and stronger
than either vow or subsequent decree.

Strung along in life, now hung alone, she
cannot curse her own actions. She once thought
forever was forever was ever,
would always be; displeasure fills her, then
memories held deep inside take over
and her body – her heart – scream foul play.

It’s possible to have loved, desired,
and still cherish the passion and friendship
once shared… And those will go on forever.


The wind rouses dormant hormones, each gust
brings to mind the reveal beneath a breeze-
flipped skirt or open collar shirt. A glimpse;
bare flesh, a tease to whet the appetite.

She squirms in her chair, anxious to get out,
feel the fresh air on her face, lizard-lick
the air for a taste – opportunities,
and challenges, found in those around her.

Beyond ready to shed her winter skin,
she spreads wide her arms, captures the sunshine
and holds on tight, feels the energy build
until her need for release exceeds her.

Want and need wrestle inside, struggling
with restraint, before tossing it aside.


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