Always there.

As I lifted my head to peer into the blanket of white snow,
the first of the season, math and its jumble of nonsense
faded away, every third grade boy or girl joined in the silent
chorus of reverence, paying homage to the earth and her gift

that was the first time I saw her, a dream of the earth, faded
sky mixed with streaks of emerald and sienna she blinked
out of time, out of imagination, encircled by nature, she
gently stuck out a rounded tongue to catch the crystals.

On my way to a dance, dressed in anxiety and prepubescent
angst, the world seemed overwhelming with neon and
fluorescent signs blinking out confusing messages on the
edges of my consciousness, then a warm hand, firm but

smooth, long supple fingers with rainbow chalk dusting the
air, wrapping around my trembling, swollen hands, filling me
with confidence, I travel among the stars tonight, and she
winks at me, all glory and harmony, her touch is music.

A man of the world, or so I imagine myself, walking through
a playground of ghosts, and a play of light captures the
escaping dust, a curtain of sunset filtering valiant prayers
sung for the moon, and she walks within the forgotten,

oblivious to steel or wood, without substance yet the world
falls to the slope of hip and belly, hair dancing, rejoicing,
fashioning a bridge between legend and future as our
eyelashes close in unison, she is me for a moment, gone.

Astride one of the four, no longer harbinger, but death, a mite
surviving on pain and fear, the air is thick with it, souls
cling to the decadence of flesh, scarred as it may be, till
they are called, and I wade the battle with shrill cries of

bullets etched along the canals of my ear, sulphur coated
teeth, tongue bulgy, and eyes caked with blood and tears;
then arms encircling my waist, hands gently stroking my
damp hair, and a whisper that drowns the violence, be at peace.

Alone in the dark, no angels, no music, just a withering
life, I have become an arid leaf awaiting the crackling flame
to erase my transgressions, listening to the demons
approach I lean back, a feast for the foul, no less deserving

of their visitation for the good intention I bore between rib
and spine, yet, no resolution, only a breeze of cinnamon,
of orchid, of rich auburn soil, and innocence, a wondrous
albatross carrying a west wind and secrets and absolution.

Puzzling over a mirror, mirror image that fluctuates surreal
and a miracle, my pen begins to type, tapping out a rivulet
from the stream, bountiful mind of a child writing upon the
clouds, then popping each one with a whoosh till my

words are written across the sky, and she sees, not right
away, but after a swim, with a red towel sweeping her
freckled shoulders, the words aglow, perched atop the
sunset she shares with me like a cookie, broken in half

and with outstretched hand, the rainbow fingers and
virtuous laugh, gliding eyelash winking in earnest, lithe
arms reaching to embrace my life, and she turns, shifts to
move closer to me, reminding me that she was always there.

Always there.


Joined January 2008

  • Artist
  • Artwork Comments 4

Artist's Description

for the light in and of my life.

Artwork Comments

  • L W
  • jjgmail
  • fullcirclemandalas
  • jjgmail
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