The art of falling down
we ring around the rosy
we fall down on our faces then laugh it off
roll over onto knees
climb back up and do it all again
I’m decorated with bruises
and there’s dirt in my teeth.
but here we go again
hold my hand
round and round we’ll go.
(painting commissioned piece for friend, see more of my artwork at owlmeetsfairy.etsy.com)
an eagle in the sky
and I want to sit on her wings
I will enjoy the fresh wind in my face and the sights below.
the word feels funny on my tongue.
It bites like dark chocolate and red wine. Red wine I swish and sip, dark chocolate I nibble and savor.
I sewed last night, the buzz of the machine was musical in my ears.
I sketched handbags in tattered sketch book
and sewed things that I like
The eagle sweeps down and picks me up, angels lay a daisy chain like a halo over my messy french braid
It flies me to a throne, But I do not sit
I dance with all those who are weary
all those who feel unloved
all those who are weak and worn
all those who search in the mirror for their beauty but can’t see past the refection cast by light.
the eagle has brought them too
One by one
they are dazzling and whimsical in their crowns and white dresses
all of us are dancing
twirling and smiling
Then I am back in my living room, laptop humming and woodstove warming my toes
Sister’s belongings are scattered around and puppy’s paint-covered-paw is flopped across my lap. Mum is resting her knees,
and the room next door is torn apart, but this place is just as beautiful as the dancing place
because the girls are the same
weak and weary but beautiful in his eyes. In his place
This is his place too, we have invited him here. Too see our messy renovation to warm his cold toes.
enjoy, dance and love
you deserve it, daughters of the king.
I trek through deep snow with brother
he speaks of school friends and sitcoms
Big castles face the lake
and look out at the storm with dark square eyes
They look beautiful and extravagant, but inside they must be cold, with a little stove trying to pump heat throughout the hollow rooms
The cold is eating me the same and my heart tries to pump heat, enough to hold my smile in place
enough to keep me from wading into a ball in the corner,
but its a fight.
I write this then backspace
highlight and delete
Is it okay to be fighting?
to be tossing in the night as tears stream from my eyes?
to wake up on the floor with my bed made, and room spotless because I am trying to keep things tidy and together?
I would like to break out and scream, roll on the floor and kick my feet in the air,
The cold would be so surprised it would grab frost and snow and run across the lake,
Away from me and never to return
This morning before sandwiches and potato chips we spoke of grace as our sword
a small community of believers huddled and studied, I listened
God does not take things away. The cold will always come, but he will give us a sword to fight it with. Grace like warm woolen mittens to put on and face the storm.
Everyday is a struggle for sister so tossed and twisted
Dad brought mum roses today and she sat and cried on the couch
brothers writes worries to friends from a far,
who will he be in this new school of fish
Does he fear the sharks?
I do for him
In church, the people pass funny glances at our family so new and different
a tall thin boy, a flapping girl and her older pair with a scowl and tousled hair
A mum and dad so worn from an 8 month storm that deep shadows are harsh under eyes of love
Puppy waits in the big cold home with paint on her paws, from the wall we took out.
we try to mold into this big house, i shuffle my furniture around and fall in tears on the kitchen floor one morning
asking God to take away fear
to help me stop counting
counting days, counting seconds, counting meals, counting people
I need to create more, I need to be better, I need to practice my music, I need to write every day
I need to be this present moment
There are toys on this floor and denim threads from a love quilt scattered around mum
Lord help us make it
be with brothers lonely, living afar
help me mold into you that you fulfill my every need
help me to know if I should travel afar to home-school missionary children
or do you have life for me here
Send this home peace and warmth
and order that we can hold amongst the chaos
we will all grab on, and bare our white knuckles
so that we can make it through
help us make it through
Linking with Emily today
Sometimes I think it would be hard to be her.
The pastor’s booming voice making vibrations in her chest
little glowing LED lights on the Christmas trees at the front, shining bright in both her eyes.
Christmas trees….that should be have been taken down when Christmas ended.
People whispering in their seats,
being able to hear their every word.
The crinkle of candies
and the smells of coffee, morning mints, bad breath and earl grey tea, as church goers open mouths to yawn.
The way the berber carpet in the sanctuary catches under her shoes.
Holding herself down in a chair, when her body wants to float away
being so afraid of germs, as the man across the aisle sniffs and wipes his red nose.
I thought of her those days that I was sick
poisoned by rotten food, from an unknowing grocery store
she stood a meter away at all times
at night she shook with anxiety in mums arms.
so afraid of what was not routine
something un-named but mean enough to change the people she loved, change her everyday world
her everyday world already so shaken up since that summer day when Dad said we would move.
She started skating last week, watching her skate was like watching her dance, a beautiful evolution, learning steps by sight.
She skates 2 days a week, two scheduled days
by building blocks her life is being put back together
block by block
Rome wasn’t built in a day