not-quite Journaling, 30
On a walk, with the wind frosting my cheeks in biting kisses, I think, There’s so much to mourn in winter—no blooms luring butterflies, no birds singing about love or nests, no frolicking under warm sheets made of moonlight and need, no bees buzz… Then my thoughts spill into a glimpse of daffodils springing through a snow shroud that makes me feel, there’s much to celebrate in winter.
smile is written on my heart’s skin,
your voice tattooed inside my bones.
sculpted you eternal
into life and dream and ink…
With art and will, I remember you.
photo by K. Mitch Hodge on, Unsplash
2/16/2022: One of my dearest friends, who lost a loved one a year ago, told me how the loss still makes her burst into tears. I said to her, “The loss and pain never goes away. It changes, it even wanes from time to time… Then, you hear a song they loved, cook or taste food they loved, do something you loved doing together… and the pain tears your heart to bloodied pieces anew.” Still, anyone who has lost someone understands that this pain is the price we willingly pay to keep our dead alive (in memory).
Monstrous! some might
when they discover my love
for old bones and other dead things.
But not him… He notices the bright
natural dark spills into me, and he
turns skull collector to show his love
Piano Man found this beauty during a run. Instead of just picking it up and
bringing it to me, he marked the place… and then took me back to it (he didn’t
want me to miss Nature’s artful display). I’ll never forget the smile
that bathed his face, when he presented the gift… or how wonderful it always
feels to know that my love knows me.
- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #14: Monster Madness!