Forgive Me

Forgive me for being single minded, for overlooking the needs I didn't see because I wasn't looking with kind eyes.

Forgive me for being crass, for running you over with my ideas and beliefs without listening to yours and considering them.

Forgive me for being in a hurry, for not seeing beauty while I complained about petty things like an ungrateful child.

Forgive me for thinking wrongly, for milling over nonsense while the world needed me to act on its behalf.

Forgive me for my selfishness, for not sharing all I have with those who need and for thinking I needed more than some one else to be a success.

Forgive me for my fear, for not making the most of every opportunity because I was afraid I'd fail - damned pride.

Forgive me for turning my back on suffering, for not looking it in the face and comprehending the misery of others - for not doing all I could to ease it.

Forgive me for my weakness, for giving up when I should have drawn on my strength and pushed through.

Forgive me. Don't curse me for being weak, afraid, blind, hurried, crass, single-minded. I forgive you for these things. We are only human beings.

The Earth Tilted for Me

I don't know how it came to pass, that the earth tilted for me, that my life became something I felt like a character in. I'm not sure when it began or who is at fault. None of that really matters does it?

I do know that I am human. I am not what I thought I was, not the best mother, not the best wife, not the best friend, not the best house keeper, not the best. Why did I think I needed to be? Now I am sure I don't have to be. I am relieved to put down that burden.

I don't know how to walk with that burden off my shoulders. I am off balance. I flounder, stop, start, give up, start over. Each restart is born from what I've learned, they are getting easier, or I am just getting used to not being the best.

I do know that I am ordinary in more ways than I am not. I am extraordinary in a few ways as well. I've stopped looking for my happy ending. I'll be glad to have my happy moments. I'll take the sad too - if I could give them away I would. I'll try to take these moments, happy and sad, with graciousness.

I don't know what everyone needs all of the time. I know people need food, shelter, water, love, compassion, and a purpose. I need these things, my people need them. I will do my part - but I can't do it all.

I do know I can't do it all. I can't follow every dream, but I can give all I have to a select few. I can't always win, but I can keep trying. I can't always look good in front of others, but I can look inside and know I am good - because I am trying to be.

I don't know how to be normal. I am sure I wouldn't like it, but I am not sure I like who I am either. Sometimes when I talk to people I'm sure they don't have a clue what I am trying to express. I don't like that. I don't like being misunderstood.

I do know that I am part good and part bad. We have to take the good with the bad, I suppose. What other choice is there? We can't give up.

Something beautiful is happening all the time. The sun rises every morning in radiant glory and sets in sultry hues. These two things alone are so beautiful, so miraculous.

I don't know where I'll end up. I know where I am headed. I am not sure if fate will let me get there.
Time will tell.Time with it's tricks, twists, turns, deceptive flow. One minute we're young and we have forever to decide and the next minute we're not and the preciousness of time becomes clear.

I do know this: I love this world even though it's cruel some times. I love my children no matter what. I love myself - enough for myself. The sun will rise on new days for me to travel through and set to give me rest.

Division of The Inside from The Out

Inside they share food at a table made by him. They eat together and share events of their day. She asks if everyone's home work is done. She tells them she loves them very much.

Outside he watches from his car, no longer welcome here. It is his home no more because of what he's done - because of what he's left undone.

Inside they do laundry, folding, distributing it among the members of their little tribe. She thinks:  you can measure your life by laundry - how big the children's clothes have gotten, what you've done the day before, what you'll need for tomorrow, what you've worn out.

Outside he cries, his head on the wheel, his heart in his throat, his hands in his hair, his pain overwhelming. He didn't know pain could be so cold, so black.


Inside the children take baths, brush their teeth, and get ready for their mother to tuck them in, to read them stories and say prayers with them.

Outside he begins to gain his composure, he knows he must drive home and get some sleep. He knows he must work and provide for the family that won't let him back in.

Inside she turns off the lights, she runs the dishwasher, she starts the last load of laundry, she takes out the trash, she adds to her to-do list - which is always longer than her can-do list.

Outside he drives away into the night. He is heading for his bed in the room he grew up in, in the house of his parents. He is heading for an empty bed and a night of dreams filled with regrets.

Inside she stops, nothing left to do but go to bed. She smokes a cigarette on her porch - knowing better but not really caring. She weeps silently now, now that no one can see. She weeps because she doesn't know how to be alone but can't bear to live the life she did before.

Letting Go

The world turned on its side

you held on with all your strength

trying desperately not to fall off.

Things you held dear

were sliding past you

into the abyss.

You cried, ached, screamed out in pain

at the loss of all familiar.

Others seemed glued

to the earth,

walking by staring at you

as if they didn't know you,

unaffected by your cries,

unable to know your struggle,

throwing advice at you,

you held, knuckles white,

to all you once knew.

Your grip was slipping

you felt panic deep as an ocean,


Finger by finger you lost your hold

on all you had known,

all you'd been told and sold.

Holding tight to the life you knew as your own

you bucked and thrashed,

tried not to let go.

Weakness crept into your body,

crept up from your toes

swallowed you whole,

you let go.

Free falling through despair

perfectly complete.

The bottom caught you,

held you in your pain,

that weighed down your heart

and darkened your brain.

You find your feet,

look about a place you do not know.

Here you are left with lessons taught by your loss:

dreams are just dreams until you make them real,

no one can really know how you feel,

you decide what you call wrong and call right,

you determine when to let go or to fight,

you know your mind as no one else can,

you must decide where it is that you stand.

A Night at The Fair

Everywhere they look new wonders appear.

 Laughter floats on the cotton candy air.

Sticky fingers grip prizes filled with fluff.

A great wheel of people slices the night.

Gold fish in plastic bounce on midnight rides.

Roller coasters climb and drop, slow then swift.

Brothers walk the fair grounds together, amazed.

Brothers walk the fair grounds together, amazed.

Roller coasters climb and drop, slow then swift.

Gold fish in plastic bounce on midnight rides.

A great wheel of people slices the night.

Sticky fingers grip prizes filled with fluff.

Laughter floats on the cotton candy air.

Everywhere they look new wonders appear.

The Sanctuary of The Estuary

     On the estuary of the Grand Bay wind combs the trees, reeds, and palmettos. It says to the mad world outside this sanctuary, "shhhhhhh." Be calm, be quiet, listen.
 
     "Turn away from your screens and your date books," it chides. "You cannot contain your time in calendars." Time belongs to the wind, the trees, and the earth.

     Animals listen to the wind, as it speaks it's message of wisdom. They live in cycles that nature imposes on them. Harmony lives here among these reeds, these waters, these trees.

     Along the horizon southern pines, brushy heads atop straight trunks, guard the estuary. They say nothing. In their silent station they provide homes for the birds and shade to creatures below. Osprey and sparrow trust trees to give them a place to perch, to take refuge.

     In their silent station the trees stand. They thin toward  the water's edge and come to a point where one stands alone. A commander for this immobile troop, he keeps his place.

     The water, dark like iced tea and just as cold, ripples under power of the wind. Shiny silver bodies of fish jump into the air and land back in the water with a swish and splash. Are they curious about the space above them like we are? Do they wonder?

     I wonder. I wonder where the feeling that swells in the center of me comes from. I wonder what source determines its hue. Today it is sky blue and reed green.

     Today, right now, it is good.

It is Good

This day is so lovely. Out on the estuary of the Grand Bay the sun is illuminating the cornflower sky. The wind combs the trees and the reeds and the palmettos and says to the mad world outside this sanctuary: "shhhhhhhh." It is wise advice. Be calm, be quiet, listen. "Turn away from your screens and your date books." It chides. "You fools, you cannot contain your time in your calendars," it says.Time belongs to the wind, and the trees, and the earth.
     Animals are content in this place. They listen to the wind, as it speaks the message of wisdom to all, and obey it. They live in the cycles that nature imposes on them. The sorrows of man are his own doing. Harmony lives here among these reeds, these waters, and these trees.
     Along the horizon line southern pines, brushy heads atop their straight trunks, stand guard around the estuary. They say nothing. They too are wise. In their silent station they provide homes for the birds and shade to the creatures below. Osprey and sparrows trust these trees to give them a place to perch and take refuge. In their silent station they stand. They thin toward the water's edge and come to a point where one stands alone. A commander for this immobile troop, he keeps his place.
     The water, dark like iced tea and just as cold, ripples under the power of wind. Shiny silvery bodies of fish jump into the air and land back in the water with a swish and splash. Are these fish curious about the space above like we are? Do they wonder? I do. I wonder. I wonder where the feeling that swells in the center of me comes from. I wonder what source determines its hue. Today it is cornflower blue and reed green. Today, right now, it is good.