100 Days of Poetry: Days 96-100

(Again, I did write five poems for these days, but a couple are best left unseen.)

Recovery

A consequence of aging
Perhaps,
Like failing eyes,
Failing bladder,
And joints that ache,
Emotions and relationships, too,
Falter,
Fall ill,
Or rupture.
Aging hurts the spirit as well as the frame.
Heart attack of a different kind
Left me sobbing and unhinged
On a snowy spring afternoon in Cache Valley,
My marriage uncertain,
My parents fading,
Those I leaned on no longer strong and steady.
Dreams that pulled me forward
Lack the power they once held,
Tattered and weak as they have become.
Something already strained finally tore wide open.

And now?
Now, hopefully, the healing begins.
Scar tissue rebuilding the heart into something new,
Stronger in some ways,
Weaker in others.
I am learning how to recover,
Learning to rest,
Recognizing that wounds of the heart need time,
Patience,
A willingness to step back,
Pull away from society
And slow the pace of life
Until new skin closes gaping wounds,
Until the pain recedes
And the pieces knit together into some semblance of whole.

Sunday Afternoon in Spring

My daughter sunbathes in the hammock,
Turning of the page punctuated by a cough and a sniffle,
Remnants of a late season cold.
I write under a picnic umbrella,
Listening to the breeze rustle newly unfolded leaves.
Blocks away, an ice cream truck announces its progress with "Turkey in the Straw"
Against a backdrop of an occasional lawnmower or chainsaw.
Moths flutter, newly emerged from their cocoons,
Flitting past fading lilacs and the tiny white bells that promise late summer blueberries.
It is a season of layered clothes and forgotten sunglasses,
Of heads tilted back to capture welcome sun.
Last week, I drove through slushy snow.
Next week, I will sigh as I mop my sweaty brow.
Today, I delight in spring.

100 Days of Poetry

I set out to write one hundred poems
Word paintings, tiny snapshots of my life
As winter snows transformed to mid-spring days
As joy, hurt, wonder and sorrow traded
Places on the stage, each dancing her part,
Then passing the spotlight to her fellows.
I have loved observing the days take shape
In verse, teasing out colors and rhythms
Examining the pain, reliving joy,
Letting creativity do her work.