Letting Go
by the third
day
the dirt
was dust
the clouds
held back
the rain
all the roses
bled out
back to seed
the leaves fell
before fall
sticks stuck
in the desert
it was all a mirage
the well was dry
only fools search
the depths
for gold
believing emerald cities
actually exist
in some forsaken
corner
of the world
where the sea
meets the moon
mirrored in waves
and the stars float up
from the sky
leaving a stone
in its wake
TL
The Good Son
and in the evenings
he heads
down the road
to the pasture
unchanged
where the horses
can hear him come
before he ever steps
outta the truck
taking care of ‘em
has helped him heal
their quiet strength
centers him
he can go and tell ‘em
anything
and everything
or nothing
at all …
it didn’t matter
what he said
or didn’t say
they knew
they could feel it
in the tremble of his hand
in the silent stream
in the bowed head
he didn’t have to try
and hide it
or hold it
in the dusk
the heat or the rain
cold or wind
season to season
out there
on the range
feeding the horses
he’s just a boy
who misses his Mama
and aches for his Daddy
and just wants to make ‘em
proud
TL
Wherewithal
she was
born
without
a mother
of ease
or ignorance
or the luxury of means
for an orphan
bore her
one raised
behind a door
behind the eye of a child
witnessing the worst
of human weakness
the humility of hatred
the rage that knows no bounds
the loneliness of self-reliance
the betrayal of trust and safety
the abuse of position and power
the loss of what it means
to be little
but even an orphan knows the truth
that there’s always a choice …
before a tone turns deafening
before a hand becomes a weapon
before a drink becomes a poison
before a room becomes a prison
before a mask becomes a monster
before it’s too late for sorry
for someday
no apology can change
past transgressions
and the orphan lies awake at night
wondering
if the child she bore
will ever understand
what it is
to be free
truly free
to fly
above the cloud
and touch the color
taste the rain
feel the ray
see the blue
and know
that even when
the sky turns
and lightning burns the clouds black
and not a breath of wind can ease the ache
and not a drop of rain can reach the eye
and not a note of song can find the tree
let there be
but a remembering
of good things
that within the enormity
of loss
there is the smallness
of a word kept kind
that when felt
becomes gold
a gold greater than wealth
greater than all possession
all power
all greed
greater
still
TL
Adjustment
as I await
her return …
it occurs
to me
I am thus
forevermore
accustomed
to await
her return …
as I am
thus
in this
moment
solitaire
TL