In you I came to know birth and death
neither remembered nor explained
an ellipses
space only guessed
living
Chosen
Indelible ink on skin
the blood red border of a new tattoo
A chosen scar to decorate or maybe hide the ones that weren’t
Chosen…
Only the grave
in silent darkness
keeps secrets so well
as skin thickened by never told wounds, colored and outlined in black
Reconciliation
she didn’t do it right
the baby came first
but not before the one that didn’t
because there was a clinic in Chicago
that would take care of the problem
so he said…
And it did for a little while,
take care of the “problem” which was
in fact
to hide the fact that she was not
the “girl” she was expected to be
…secrets were born instead
The second became the first to
change the shape of things
though still no ring
…a circle if you will
of impatient nights and restless days
and wondering why it all turned out so different
than her dreams
…but still a dream
with little fingers and new eyes
through which she viewed the world
an ocean swell of love to wash her clean
she found her reconciliation
Penance
perhaps you are my secret
left in the darkness of a closet
filled with dry bones
that rattle like fallen leaves
on pavement on a crisp and windy day
yet unlike those drifting leaves
I can not sweep you away
because you are alive
with beating heart
a memory I revisit in the silent night
with hope
that I may somehow change the past
rinse you clean and bright as dawn
bring you back to Innocence
and into light
forgiven
Ghost
The taste of dark brew
conversations overheard
from a wooden chair at the coffee shop
where the clatter of glass
a laugh a smile
all of these are reminders
of what was had and what is lost
and of the fleeting, dizzying pace of time
all things go on
as I go on
your ghost
like fading photographs
my company
Plunge
Leave it to me
to climb the ladder to the high dive
look calmly at the blue waves rippling below
and jump in with both feet
only to realize once the cool water
envelopes me…
I can’t swim.
haiku: winter
I made you my rain
your halo like the sunshine
your winter left me
Fickle
From dust
a breath brought you to life
in me
my heartbeat
my song
Shifting moods
and dark clouds
ushered in the storm
From dust you came
to dust you shall return
Unpacking
I’m Lisa, and this is my blog. While I’d like to say I’ve done a million things and I’ve got a laundry list of things I can say about ME and all I have accomplished so I am here to share, I can’t. No gold star. I’m still trying to figure out who I am. That’s, in large part, why I began this blog and why, if you take a look back at some of my earlier posts you’ll see a bit of an evolution. Me, moving in some small way with each post (in essence, a piece of me that I am with some trepidation sharing with the world) toward an understanding of who I am and what I am “about.” I am a work in progress. I am a poet and a writer.
One of the thoughts pervading my mind as of late is, what will I say about myself when I am 50? Fifty years old. A half a century. Two 25 year spans within a lifetime. How will I have changed? Childhood seems far away when I simply look at the numbers, yet hearing a train horn in the distance as I lay in bed can suddenly take me back as if it were yesterday. Sometimes, it definitely feels so.
So there it is. I have no “about.” I have a journey that’s not over yet. A journey that is in constant evolution and one that I have been blessed with the ability to share through words. When I take the time to tap out a simple string, tied together by an idea, a feeling, an emotion, a memory, I connect more with who I am. Perhaps then, when I am 50 I will know more. Maybe then, I will be able to create and clearly articulate who I am, summed up neatly and succinctly on an About page. Until then I will journey and write in this place, this place of words.
Flames catch all
I thought
and truly there is nothing
I would dash to rescue in the flames
my heart is intact
my hands can write
my eyes can fall on those I love
my arms can wrap around them
my mind is alive with joy and memories
brighter than the fire
and hotter still…
knowing this, I’d stand and watch
as the flames catch allIn response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Burning Down the House.”
Golifely 