Headline Poem 12/31/14 -- A tribute to you

I had no idea when I started my poem a day on January 1, 2014 if I'd actually be able to write 365. Initially, my poems were about other people's lives. These headlines captured and haunted me. As things in my own life changed, the news on some days became too much, and my poetry shifted, becoming more personal, more raw. That's how it works. There were moments I wanted to stop, but I didn't. It turns out I needed these poems. I had no idea that this daily practice of writing would become my saving grace. As so often is the case, beautiful things came my way, disguised, sometimes, as really shitty things. I have learned a lot this year, mostly about peace. It makes sense for my last poem of the year to be a tribute -- to nature, another saving grace. I will keep writing in 2015, and now, will have fun combining my words with beautiful art. Happy New Year! 

May your soul be sturdy, 

may your smile be bright, 

and may your heart 

swell with love. ❤️

A Tribute to You 

The day we 

packed up the kids 

and our lunches and our tie-dyed eggs

and drove through you, 

was the day small things started to change.

As we entered your sacred space,

you embraced us, and whispered that we were safe.

My heart raced, and then slowed, 

switching between fierce ebbs and

apprehensive flows. 

Your aroma is permanently

carved in my heart, and I can still smell

the shawl of acceptance you wrapped around

me, knowing how hard

I was trying to 

breathe while my children played among 

the Joshua Trees.

My bones thank you. 

 
It was there under the Cirrus clouds

that I lay down on you,

and became 

simply 

a woman in love 

with a man.

I don't know how, but you knew 

that I hadn't

really let him inside for at least

half a decade. 

I needed to be among the rocks,

and the curves of you to begin again

to speak

a language so long ignored

it was gathering cobwebs and dusted specks. 

We, in our own traps, were stuck. 

 

That day, we stopped spinning and 

surrendered

to being tangled up in you

and  

your soothing, mud-less breeze

of fault lines and ego dreams,

and we let go. 

We trusted that you'd bring us home

That was eight months ago, 

and to this day,

we are still closing our eyes, 

and pinching our skin

with appreciation,

ever so gently, 

always gently.