Tuesday, January 25, 2011

I need shelter.

I need shelter.

This home I make,
it is shelter.

But inside and outdoors noisy.
It’s beautiful,
(but or is it and?)
always  a bit imperfect.

The artistry of the saints surrounds me
in the woodwork,
silver spickets,
mosaic, paintings.
Talents shared.

I want to be swallowed up in



Sometimes, instead I’m tears.

My table, please
be rich,
Each spoon prepared with love.
I don’t want to settle for bearable.

Beds bid fresh and warm as toast.
Sleep wraps my exhausted body.
My nightstand full of books,
And good intentions.
The clock reminds me to commit.

Colors whisper welcome.
Squash to greet.
A hint of lavender gravity.
Blue sky to soothe.

My children behave politely,
on good  days.  Other days,
Hate me.

The black wiry dog pants adorable.
I sweep mounds enough of his hair
an entirely new creature.

My beloved
burns peace,
A blanket for my empty arms.

Only baths and creams caress and care for my
aging skin. 

The white porch swing shivers in the
I’ll only spend time with her
in the warm weather,
After daffodils.

Birds twitter to the feeder.  I don’t need to see them.  It makes
 My heart
Glad that they visit.
My grandmother’s spirit dwells there
as well.

Don’t ask me about
My work.
It weighs

I don’t share the longings of my heart
With any person
who can share them

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