writings
Pretending We Don’t See
I saw a bumper sticker warning me that
Jesus Is Coming.
I left a polite note that said,
Jesus Is Here.
You can find him behind the green dumpster
In the Pine Street parking lot. Just to the left.
His eyes are blue like an imaginary ocean
And he digs for cigarettes, suffering
For us all as we walk right by
Pretending we don’t see.
What We Bear Most As We Bravely Risk
When sadness masquerades as rage,
When the roar of disappointment is defeating,
When rooted in the relentless inappropriate,
The courage to be wildly unattractive in a field of beauty
Is something of a stroke of genius.
So I bow to you, my fellow traveler, as you stake out your path
And stick to it with truisms and blinding hope. And that you,
If not right or admired, at least will be known
And remembered as a wild bet thrown on the table
That could have won it all.
My Girl Swims In the Ocean
My girl, the one with the mermaid eyes and hair of sunshine,
Swims in the ocean while I shift sand on the beach
Watching carefully and wondering about the pull to water
That isn’t mine but only hers.
This foreigner who spent a short lifetime within and without me.
I am her witness. Her steady wind. Her fragrant reminder of home.
She is swimming far and deep while I watch and hold
Our collective breath and congratulate her bold becoming
As she faces each wave with willingness to then disappear
Over and over again. Matching the perpetual
Timing that doesn’t start or stop.
While I rattle small shell pieces and smooth white rocks,
casting a prayer like a net to keep her safe
And free. As only a mother can do. From an afar shore.
Reluctantly, I close my eyes and wait. Entering faith with an abandon
I barely trust. Only then does she emerge cold and satisfied.
Suddenly standing on the bare sand beside me.
Smiling as if my heart did not just drown with the
Rescue of our shared primal love.
I Still Have Hope
I still have hope that the missing sock will be found
And that forgiveness will soften the rage in my belly.
I still have faith that my shiny sharp edges are an asset
And your disillusionment a promise in the wind.
The Juxtaposition of Kindness
Sometimes kindness is a stern face.
Sometimes kindness a subtle glance.
Sometimes kindness only serves best
When you wield it with firmness and finesse.
Sometimes kindness is a hard, fast kick.
Sometimes kindness a well-thrown brick.
Sometimes kindness is a low voice that says,
I suggest you take a few steps back.
Sometimes kindness is a withdrawn hand.
Sometimes kindness a silent plan.
Sometimes kindness is a gentle slap,
As reminder of what’s not happened yet.
My Name Is Not Mavis 