Almost Eighteen

I forgive you for thinking I meant yes when I actually said no,
For letting my calls go to your answering machine.
I forgive you for taking your phone off the hook.
You rearranged everything in my life; I'm sorry I let my crazy show.
He's almost eighteen now.

I loved you with a foolish love.
A flutter at your voice
and
An I-can-change-him determination.
I'm sorry if I let my crazy show.
It was crazy to take a paintbrush to the tiger's stripes.

I forgive you, even if you're not looking for it.
If I ran into you on the street, I would feel sick
Of course I would.
But then I would forgive you.
And I would feel sorry for what you missed—not what I missed.
He's almost eighteen now.

Joy

Do you know joy?  I do.

I hear it in the giggle of the girl bouncing along with her pony's trot.

Do you know joy?  I do.

I see it in the grin of the man whose legs cannot move him, but his horse can.

Do you know joy?  I do.

I feel it in the happy step of an animal connecting with their human.

Do you know joy?  You should.

Memorial

Even if I close my eyes to the darkness, someone must stand watch.
Even if I shake my head in disapproval, someone must stand watch.
Even as I delight in warmth and comfort, someone must stand watch.
Though they deserve all we have and more, someone must stand watch.

To the men and women who have stepped forward to serve our country, and the families who endure so much to make it possible, thank you.  'Thank you' doesn't seem to be enough to repay you for your service, your bravery, and your sacrifice, but it's all I know to do.  Bless each and every one of you!

Happy Memorial Day.

Last Day On Earth

If it were my last day on earth I would dream under the stars.
I would lay down in the grass and let the sun warm my skin.
I would cherish each breath of air as it weaves through my hair.
I would sing along with the familiar melodies of the birds.

If it were my last day on earth I would lose my way in the trees.
I would splash and play in the dancing waters.
I would shift and slide amongst the soft grains of sand.
I would drench myself with the afternoon rain.

If it were my last day on earth I would wrap your arms around me.
I would bathe in the trickle of our falling tears.
I would wish you remember me fondly long after I go.
I would want you to know you made each day worth living.

When you think of me, with tears or laughter, know that I am thinking of you and sending love in the gentle ways I know how.

~~~

 Mariah, sweet girl, you deserve to be whole again.  Thank you for always being as kind as you looked.  Thank you for trusting me enough to be your vision and, sometimes, your protector.  We will miss your quiet spirit and the cautious way you would sneak up to me to get treats before any of the other horses could chase you away.  Give Moe a big, sloppy horse kiss for me, and run free together the way you never really could when you came to live with us.  

You are loved.  <3

~~~

Mariah galloped across the Rainbow Bridge today at 12:15pm. Rest in peace, Ry-Ry. </3

I'm Bad At Math

I'm only a human, 
I can't put you in my mold.
Love takes many forms, 
Or so I've been told.

I wish you happiness,
Even if it's not like mine.
I wish you the life of your dreams,
Filled with people who are kind. ♥

Reflections on Birth

This could be the time, this could be the very day.
Your body squirms with each mighty squeeze.
Our meeting dips closer then draws away--
Every two minutes, three-hundred-and-sixty degrees.

My mind transforms my womb to blooming flower,
And I cry out loudly in triumph, not despair.
A last surge, one final crescendo of raw power
And new life bursts forth with a first gasp of air.

Empty Stall

He's captive in this little box, tangled among all the little things that made me me.  Dew on the morning grass, wings to fly, easy laughter, innocence.  Where he has gone, my joy has followed.  Each day, I struggle to keep the lid shut tight, to hold too fiercely to something that has long since slipped away.  It's all changing--the light, the season, even me.  How can there be a spot of my heart that's left to split?

***

Tonight I fed the horses in the dark.  They were quiet, not hungry and frenzied as they usually are around dinnertime.  I found out that was because they'd already eaten dinner, so the hay I'd thrown out was a bonus feeding.  The sweet aroma of pine drifted to me, and I turned to see my mom had thrown some shavings in one of the stalls for the horses to enjoy.  The stall we'd kept locked since July 10th had been opened, an open invitation for the mares to come in and explore the straw bedding within.  That stall, that very straw was the last place my sweet boy laid his head before we put him down.  He groaned and stretched and closed his eyes almost happily, even though he was in unspeakable pain.  Even though minutes later he would stand, with my help, and be led from the barn for the very last time.

I never intended it to be a shrine to Moe.  It was a waste of straw to be used in the summer for my pasture-kept ladies.  I locked it up with a zip-tie that day, and there it's sat for all this time.  And, yet, a shrine is exactly what it became, in the end.  It was his stall, even though my horses don't have assigned stalls.  Every evening he would rush in there with a gruff nicker while I worked on scooping out his Equine Senior, so anxious to eat he would impatiently come back out of the stall and follow too closely behind me to make sure I was coming.  He'd been losing teeth in those last years, and gumming his dinner took forever, but I wish he was still here.... I'd let him take five times as long if he was just here again.  Soon, the straw will need to be removed, soiled and useless.  One more reminder he was here, that it all happened, will break down and disappear forever.

Tonight that open, empty stall peeled back the corner of the scab.  I know the wound will never fully heal, but I had hopes that, over time, it would become easier.  This is not easier.

Drop In the Bucket

Who am I, that You are mindful of me?

Who am I, that You care for me?

Who am I, that You allow my self-absorbed nonsense?

Day upon day upon day.

I am nothing, blank, zero.

And yet, You love me despite my faults.

***

I am feeling it today, the melancholy that visits me from time to time, even though my life is pretty fantastic.  I'm feeling silly, impetuous, and highly imperfect.  I'm thinking of these books I'm writing and chiding myself for considering people will ever give a flying Fig Newton what rattles around in my brain.  I fail as a daughter, a granddaughter, a sister, an aunt, a mother, a wife, and as a friend more often than I don't.  I probably need chocolate and a sappy chick flick.

Correction:  I need chocolate and a sappy chick flick.

The realization is that I am a drop in the bucket, a humming that is less than a disturbance in the symphony of life.  Insignificant.  No one cares--I'm not even sure if I care.  God cares, and it shouldn't matter beyond that.  I'll confess, it matters a little beyond that, but it shouldn't.

I'm sorry if I'm less than you expect.  I'm resigning myself to it, this less-ness.  For today, at least.

He Is

He is...

Spindly legs.

They say he will learn to put each one in proper place as he grows.

They were wrong.



He is...

A velvet nose.

He is sniffing, touching, testing, mouthing all the world has to offer.

And even some things it does not.



He is...

The perfect heart

Child-like, forgiving, trusting, loyal to the final flicker of life.

And loyal even yet.


****

I have been looking at baby pictures of some friends and recent clients.  I am led to flip back through some of my older Facebook photos, where little Ohboy's age could be counted in weeks and months rather than years.  His smile is the same in those photos, only now it is deepened with words and experience.

It makes me wonder about my Moe-Moe.  I've never seen him as a foal, but I imagine him much the same:  Gangly and awkward, hungry and inquisitive.  The idea of my beloved guy as a beloved little guy brings happy tears to my eyes.  What a character I know he was.  These things seldom change, even with age.

Miss you, as always, Moe.  Where you are, a big piece of my heart has followed.

12:12

A kiss on the cheek.
A kick in the teeth.
A face is much too frail a place
To receive such love and grief.

****

I don't know what this means, and, again, poetry ain't my thang...  But it popped into my head a few minutes ago.

Not Forgotten

My dear human friend,

A door called death has closed between us for the moment.

But could a little thing like that

break the bond of love and understanding between us,

Who have been so close? Of course not. 

Having left behind the body which no longer serves me,

I can be with you always and everywhere;

On long delicious walks, at quiet times, and lively times,

Alone, among friends new and old. 

Let my excitement with life still brighten your days.

As long as there is a place in your heart which is the shape of me,

I will be with you.

One day you too will come through the door,

And we will be together in glorious ways we have yet to understand.
 

--Alexandra Day

Misplaced

My heart is not a keepsake box.
It clicks open and closed, no safety locks.
With flutters and pauses until it stops,
Love is not secure as it ought.

Instead, I'll keep you in my mind
To whirl and dance in dreams of our design.
Any better place would be rare to find,
Than this hiding place of yours and mine.

~~~

Poetry is not my thing, but I was struck with this thought today, as I considered a few close friends who have been struggling with heart issues.  Please don't criticize me too harshly.... I believe the last poem I wrote was something forced by my College Lit professor back in 1997.  Enjoy, if you can.