Not a certainty
Here near the ocean and sand
To see some winter
The night sky made bright
Satin dark and silver flakes
A canvas made new
I think it’s a gift
A boon from the universe
Unexpected snow
Not quite the same view
But I’ll take it nonetheless
Change is not easy
Here and gone too soon
Like many other good things
Worth it while it lasts
I have a
little girl
to take care of.
Her world,
her future,
her life –
they start with me.
To teach her to be
kind
and
clever,
to show her
love –
how to and why –
and when it’s right to fight.
And to never deny
the darkness,
but always
always
always
help her shine her light.
Nothing else matters.
Everything matters.
Picture me just there
in the window
forever looking out
at the road and sky,
no more now than air
and memories
and the old, dry dust of
a thousand near misses.
You wish you could?
Well, so do I.
Wake.
Grow.
Bloom.
Blossom.
Change.
The season turns
again.
The past and present
are not the same,
but the cycle
is certain,
a constant.
And I can feel it –
down in my bones,
deep in my soul –
now
more than ever.
Here, there, and everywhere you are,
my hair –
in the shower drain and on the rocking chair,
fistfuls in my hands,
landing all around in tangles, clumps, and pairs.
You and me,
we were really something, weren’t we?
One day you’ll come back,
I know –
or, at least, I hope it’s so.
Until then,
my old familiar friend,
we’ll weather the (thinning) clouds together.
My people got a playpen
and they say it’s not for me!
But then why even get one?
Everything’s mine, you see.
(Including the weird hairless cat
they brought home in the fall.)
It’s almost like they just forgot
that Merlin owns it all.
I find that
I’m a student
once again –
no teacher now
but life,
little sleep,
and lots of advice
(some helpful and some…
…not).
I’m learning
to embrace
this busy, beautiful chaos.
Every day is
something different –
sometimes scary,
and always beautiful.
You are my whole world,
my brave baby girl.
There’s something about
writing a poem
that feels a lot like
coming home.
How lucky I am
to spin words
into roads
that lead there,
where I most want to go.
Cloudy sky spitting snow,
and 364 to go.
One year gone and lessons learned
as another comes to take its turn –
new and old meet at the door
and cross the threshold.
For us
(the three of us):
Hope and joy,
love and light,
a bright dawn after a lonely night
and so many happy memories already.
These are truly the new days.
May they last and linger
and spread out
endless and infinite.
A Virginia Writer's Diary 