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Archive for August, 2010

sore thumbs

we don’t know which surface requires a coaster and which does not

we stick out like sore thumbs in our pew on a sunny sabbath

amongst the others who have come to sing and pray before the father

others who hold smiles on there faces and say loving things to one another

while we grimace when she pinches our side and let tears fall when the lyrics of praise pierce hearts and touch down close to home.

We fall in love with the odd house on streets near lakefront

not because it’s perfect but because mother just knows

The sun set and she leaped and splashed in the lake

The two of us had held positions while they looked through the house

and pretended it was a castle with a rounded tower at the front

The other houses:


did not entrance us the same

they were held together

like faces trying to please

Like surfaces made to look appealing

not to be scuffed by wine glasses and coffee cups

To him we were not sore thumbs, but workable fingers

we were the plates that get used rather than framed and hung

we were the surfaces with stains and countertops with scratches

we did not look put together

but we were being used

and we wore our wear proudly

like battle wounds, and tattoos

That was us,

that was our home

both like a callused finger pointed upward alongside the manicured and polished

callused and proud

that was us



fairies are really just…

angels with butterfly wings

(sketches by emmalynn)

grass stains on bibles

Days of children with innocent faces and fragile hearts.

a girl in tattered shoes with a couple rhinestones still hanging there by threads

a boy who hits and pulls my hair

rides on my back

and earns grass stain badges with me as we tumble in the yard.

We sing together with the name of our father like honey on our lips.

and dance arms high teaching them a new free

they’re children so they listen earnest and open

They share silly thing just so they get a turn with the microphone

today we picked them bibles

crouched on the floor in far-from-chapters bookstore.

bibles and devotionals towering around us, trying to select the perfect ones for each child.

His word should be free, numbers and coins jus

t get in our way.

we learned the word was life changing.

I needed life changing

I was doing life changing
trying things I did not like

driving into the city in the hot of the afternoon, because he opened an appointment for me

I know he did it because it had his fingerprints all over it.

now keyboard clicking, eyes needing sleep

tomorrow a new day of hussle and bussle

kids running and screaming

adults fretting

and there with sister by my side and a sea of children shouting silly songs

i’ll meet him

in the hush of the moon

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gathering acorns

It was coming

spinning, squealing

out of control, soon coming to a stop

right in front of my nose

I tried to look away

pretend I couldn’t see it

but with every turn, leaves were falling and the sun was getting pushed further away.

I swam in the cold waters, as if they were warm and the sun was beating down

rather than the overcast that hung gloom through the sky.

I flipped through my Martha Stewart living and looked at summer salads and barbecue feasts

trying to keep it from coming

Somewhere deep inside my subconscious under layers of quilts and sheets I wonder if this will be the one

if this will be the winter that I make it

a mustard seed of hope

I tell myself.

I am a new girl

honest now

I’m making my team

gathering my nuts and things for hibernation

I will make it this time

I will embrace the cold winds and warm them with my heart

I will prepare my closet with thick flannels and chunky sweaters

knit socks will hang from my door

Bring it on

feet planted firm

I want to make it

I will make it

checking out

The world looks on with such judgmental eyes,

Not even attempting to understand or rely on faith,

we act by what we see.

I watched it unfold at a grocery store check out

It brought tears to my eyes but I sucked them back and felt them puddle up inside of my brain

She’s one of those girls who everyone looks at

her beauty is angelic

When she walks into a room eyes are drawn to her

little girls stare and admire

But if you follow her soft features up to her eyes

You’ll notice something different about them

It’s an un-placeable difference, foreign to most

She locks on and stares

not in a rude way but just an interested way

This is how she reads the world

We held a Saturday morning paper as we waited to be served

Girls in floral dresses jumped and squealed behind us, picking colourful candy from a rack nearby.

They were young

One little girl approached us

saving a place in line for sister and dad

The girl in the dress was immediately drawn to her, standing there behind me

She looked her over from the loose braid in her hair down to the bright orange nail polish on her toes

She noticed the eyes

and how they were looking at her, so intensely

the little girl uncertain, but obviously the eldest

felt threatened by the towering beauty

She stared back

not for any reason

just to make a statement, I suppose

The cashier took note of this ‘stare-down’ and looked from girl to girl

Then exchanged a glance with the lady bagging groceries.

the bag lady looked from me to the angel

Eyes filled with rage

as if asking me to stop her

To interrupt her focus

I looked down from her glare

If only I could explain, sit the lady down and share stories, making her love my angel too.

The cashier and bag lady looked on, I knew as soon as we left they’d have something to say.

They saw her as a young woman, they expected her to act like me

because we looked similar in age

however the were so many variables

They gave her no grace

When we got back on our bikes, she told me tales of the young girl she had been reading with such art

All the times she had seen her before

and who she had been with

and the time of year

and how the weather felt on those days

Amazed at her beautiful mind and how it complimented her appearance

I wished the people in the store had of followed us out

ran alongside our bikes and heard her spill these thoughts

organized and filed in

the library of her mind

Then they would see

they would understand her stares

They would give her grace

I just know they would

coffee stains on a white shirt

standing on a sidewalk

holding hands with two people

arms are wide

I have to let go with one hand

but i don’t know which hand.

can’t I just stand here??

somewhere inbetween

don’t loose patience

don’t let go

we must remember:

winner takes all

a soldier never leaves his post

only time will tell

I will wake up from colourful dreams

and drag myself around in the waking hours

dripping coffee down my throat

until I overflow

coffee pours onto a white tank top

even bleach cannot remove the stain

in the hush of the moon

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reflections in sliding doors

Puppy cries at the screen door

I take pictures of things growing in my garden

An ant scitters in an S formation on the speckled slab of patio and the breeze whispers a song through my ears

My garden is a living oasis for butterflies and bees

earthworms and sally bugs

Fruit bears its colours and vines grab hold of leaves and stems

A spider displays artwork on a patio chair

puppy is rolling and stumbling in the long grass

chasing little white moths

i think about the sun and clouds and how weathermen are liars

later, inside we share a juicy pear and nut butter on the hard floor of the empty house

i like to be alone just as much as I don’t like being alone.

When I’m alone I look at my reflection more

It catches my eye in a window

it taunts me as I pass the mirror in my room

I study it

only to find that freckles on my nose are out of place or that hips don’t match my shoulders

Times like this I must remind myself that I am not only for being looked at

like a statue in a park

I was made with arms that move and embrace

wrapping loved ones in hugs

warming them with my heart

I have fingers that grip brushes

and dip them in paints

creating canvas with my holy gifts

legs to run and leap and swim

A voice to sing and whisper soft secrets

and mind to know these things

and remind myself of them

repeating them in my head

until they are all I know

When I see what I’ve been made to do

the freckles fall into place and my hips line up with shoulders

Beauty is much more than we’ll know