To who I was

I miss my mind at seventeen,
wide open, inhaling scripts whole,
tape recorder, keeping copies clear

I miss my heart at twenty four
 pulsing with hope,  confident
love would withstand every storm.

I miss my body at thirty two,
strong, graceful,  life iving,
confident in the flow of the dance.,

I miss my soul at fifty five,
sheltering matriarch soul, steady,
root, trunk, branch and leaf.

At sixty four, mind slower,
 heart sadder,body stiffer,
 soul weary, I am myself still.

This poem was written for dVerse Poetics

Told

Five years old, elective mute.

Her parents brought her to therapy

on employee assistance - five sessions max.

Four and a half sessions, she played.

I talked, waited, hoped. Twenty minutes left.

I told her "Last chance, Please tell me now."

I held my breath. She told. I called the police.


For Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Tranquility

After flash and crash of storm, 
tranquility hangs silent, perfect, 
a single shining raindrop caught
for one moment, gone the instant
squirrel shakes branch. Transient.
This poem was written for Poets United Midweek Motif, where the theme istranquility.

Visit?

Scent of fresh peaches boiling in sugar 

water woke me from well intentioned nap.

She leaned over the bassinet, her back to me.

Familiar blue dress, red scarf, neat white bun.

Time creased hand stroked soft cheek.

My grandmother crooned over my firstborn.

No matter she was fourteen years dead. 

This seems right for All Saints Day (and yes I know Jews don't celebrate All Saints Day but what the heck?)  Some possibilities seem to cross traditions.  Anyway, this one is for Poets United Poetry Pantry