A New Partner, a Lover

find the new beginnings

the smell of snow and rain
the energy of the moon during transition
that fly that lands on your knee in the opening of spring

find it in nature
you belong there
walk into the canyon arms
you are an old friend
the mother I never had and the father I know too well.
a new partner, a lover

when the leaves fall and the birds sing
on that first silent snowfall, with the moon swinging above
in the disarray of the stars
and in the trunks that hold the canopy up

find your hope
search for it in every smell, sight, and feeling
believe in it, cling to it, wrap your limbs around it
and never let it go.

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Prompt: The Dust of Old Bones

I am realizing that when given a prompt, I want to write anything and everything that comes to mind. I am beginning to explore prompts and this one is from a SLC Group called "Salty Scribblers" Deep in her closet a box lies, the dust has spread over the top and seeped to the sides. It has moved with her again and again, though only receives a hesitant glance now and then. But sometimes In her dreams she skips to it, excited to rummage through and release the treasures inside. As she peeks in, she sees distant memories, fervent feelings, and amusement of all kinds. A Pink and worn Teddy Bear with arms open and a rainbow kite, ripped and bright. A Snowman sits at the bottom, still frosty and needing a nose. The scraped knees and rain puddles remind her of play. Some nights she takes one or two out and lays them on her sleeping self, testing the fit. The beliefs are the hardest to fit. Her parents know all and her sister protects no matter her own monster wall...

Lilac Sidewalk

Same Sidewalk. As Yesterday. It catches you by surprise. But today. They are here. Either smell or sight and you are called out. Silky petals. Our female elders peeking out with their violet irises The smell, oh the smell. It swirls in your chest trying to coat your lungs, for just a little bit longer. Same Sidewalk. As Yesterday. You see the crispy. The sun held them just a little bit too long. Close enough, the smell sits still. But the drops have drifted. Toasted and broiled. It’s gone so fast. Sad and True. I mourn for those that missed it. For those that will forget. Same Sidewalk. As Yesterday. Their abode remains season to season. Empty and forgotten Their graceful presence is now a brief memory. Every now and again, I remember what was once. And what will be again.

Cat Named Frank

If you ever find yourself outside of a used bookstore, do not pass go. Open the door and happen upon stories, treasure maps, keys to other worlds, and maybe an old cat named Frank wandering the corridors. You’ll know it’s the right place based on the unorganized shelves and grungy carpet, the smell of dust, life, and letters will whirl under your nostrils. That same dust will hang limply in the air under the stream of sunlight in the stained windows. You will be picked, called out and born here. As you walk silently down each aisle, you won’t really need to read the title. And if you do, do it at the end. If you let yourself feel it, your soul will tell you. Drift a finger over the hump of each spine, each worn and scarred body, and when it says stop, Listen. Grasp it gently, and no matter what, smell it first. The old ones always call to me most. So many hands where mine lies now, so many shelves, tables, and beds it laid on before resting here. There are so many lives it saw, w...

Be Gentle With Yourself

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