Circles in the Blue

My eyes follow the high circle as if

I am in first grade

Not a triangle, a square

even an ellipse

but a perfect circle in the blue

so tiny I can hardly make it out

yet it’s familiar

Once I was a hawk in my dream

circling in blue

but seeing green

higher and higher I climbed

wings curved and tethered

to the updraft

I need an updraft

a way to fly on wings

Emerge

Like a swimmer, cap on, goggles

dives in the pool for laps

the resin coated paper

invisible image

dives into developer

and the process begins

Keen eyes

watch the timer and the paper

as it swims around the bin

rocks gently in a bath of chemicals

begins to take form

In a split second it is time

the paper is pressed into the pool of stop

just as it finishes development

The photographer is both artist and chemist

Mixing both to create a painting in light

the laps are over

Vodka Seltzer

It smooths bumps and aches

slides down like medicine

to take the pain away

I drink on the porch

Hope the can will do it

Make me well

On Being a Mother

It isn’t the diapers

it’s the tears

a hug from a young adult

who has been heart hurt

a divorce which damaged

the strain of a cross country run

and learning to snow board

cheeks red with exhaustion

they’re my babies

always have been

always will be

Beginnings

I choose a variegated blue yarn

wind it on the wooden needle

and wait

Beginnings are hard

inertia reigns

the yarn remains in a tight ball

Was it hard for The Christ

flying over water

who is and was God?

Dipping like a plover

wings outstretched like an osprey

Fish to catch

 

Throw our your nets

and witness the heavy return

 

Fish to cook for breakfast

a command to be fishers of men

once, we had nothing to eat but beans

I longed for mountain trout to feed my babies

Along came a neighbor

Who knocked on our door

with a string of fish

colored like a rainbow

as gift

I cooked

We enjoyed

Jesus, where is that fish now?

that miracle?

 

Chloe

Chloe, camouflaged in a white afghan

is silent

her nose black

smelling the time of day

her eyes covered by long bangs

She is my charge and my companion for three days

a quiet, gentle host

Writers Write

I grumble to myself in prayer.

Like children on the playground

I scream

my stomach tumbles

I am empty and dead

still, I know writers write.

so I will, by God

I’ll write anything

and not judge

but move forward in trust and longing

Easter

What is it, Mama

a child asks at Seder

the Jewish children question the manna

I’m not certain says Mama

could be baskets with grass

a new bonnet or frock

a man on a cross

a woman and her perfume

All I know is we rise with the chickens

get our feet wet in the dew

and traipse to the cemetery

where Jesus appears as we sing I come to the garden alone

What is Easter

I don’t know

Do you?

Caroline Emerges Like a Vibrant Color Print

She arrived powerful as horses’ hooves

sweet like a red Valentine

her hair down her back

her arms and legs lanky

posture perfect

she runs

and runs and runs

and as she runs

she turns another year older

emerging like a vibrant color print

in the darkroom developer

a Leader

A Queen

A wee little force

Today, tears fill my eyes

My Caroline is Almost Eight!!!

 

Valentine’s Day and Ash Wednesday

How could Cupid’s Arrow

pierce Christ’s hands?

but it did

it does

over and over

Christ Loves!