look again

to meet you
up beyond blue
skies and gathered
clouds—i wonder
if your eyes will be
watery. i looked you
in depth as if jesus
cried inside, compassion
i long–

FMF prompt: meet, This took a while to write. as in, i fixed things while writing & though about meeting my grandma in heaven. i apparently miss looking in here eyes. so much tenderness/sadness/compassion/warmth/worry/joy in those blues. at least my mom has the same eyes 🙂

Weeping Myself

Once, there lived a girl,

drawn with infinite blue skied eyes.

She awoke at 6 AM each day

to her mother repeatedly calling.

Her name, Youthful.

Breakfast was ready.

Oatmeal.

Maple & brown sugar.

Her favorite.

Especially when her daddy added

butter.

She always lingered

longer than necessary,

taking each bite preciously.

She loved the slow-paced life.

After breakfast, mother helped her dress.

Sometimes, when she needed help waking fully,

her mother would put on Hilary Duff or S Club 7.

She would get lost in melody.

singing through teeth brushing,

hair fixing, and waiting for the bus.

She’d go through school with an aid

by her side.

Walking to & from class.

This woman saw her.

Her chattering mind

always finding way off

her unhinged tongue.

Talking of this boy

three years younger.

He talked to her.

He told her, I love you.

What she was dying to hear.

She told herself this was fine.

She joyed over bowling each Saturday.

The tears filling her eyes when the 7th grade teacher

placed a map marked red with D or F.

She remembers the way the teacher said,

You need to study more or try harder.

Or ask for help. What she feared most.

The aid knew her anxiety in speaking up

her need fearing a swift, curtesy no.

It was easy to for her to talk this aid.

The way conversation flowed,

as one Christmas when she surprised

the girl with a charm bracelet.

A sun. Music note. Bowling pin.

Her name. J U L I A.

Colored gold.

A reminder to shine.

She was loved.

She was cherished.

She wasn’t forgot.

She was known.

She was a friend.

She was understood.

Years have passed.

The bracelet has gone

A new one replaces

her bony left wrist.

I’M A GOD GIRL.

White against black backdrop.

A pink heart is at one end.

A name of a girl on the other.

Not her own, but starts with J,

who sings about Jesus holding

tight as she cries.

I don’t want to grow,

leaving this laughing face

a voice said to be sweet,

charming the Beloved’s heart.

She doesn’t know what to do now.

Swinging her feet against the bedside,

wondering what happened.

Why does she begin crying,

mourning a lost child,

begging me show her

Someone hears.

Monday

I have one sock in my pocket.
It is missing it’s other half, grey,
my thoughts placing bare feet
in loafers penny colored.

I broke a towel rack before this.
While retrieving blue pants
from the counter.
It started with a small square piece,
then I decided I’d try fixing it.
Instead, the whole rod came crashing atop mother’s makeup bag.

I stared in the mirror.
God, I don’t want
to get upset over this.
I really don’t.

Tears welling, refusing
to come out.

Here I’ve sat under
dreary, less opinionated
sky, wondering
when angels above
will cry.

I’m Sorry

I don’t want to go back
to a house I’ve felt
I’ve died continually.

Where he echoes
hello twinkle, and I
smile because my heart
is swollen with before.

a girl of fourteen,
legs stretched out,
Nicholas Sparks filling her
with dreams of a boy
changed by one girl
with God’s love her guide.

You walked in,
asked how the book was,
I said, good.

You stood at the door
a minute smiling, before
walking away,
letting me continue
my fantasized walk
to remember.

What I remember-
how you stood there
with care reflected back
to my now blues,
for your love of alcohol.

A house is not a home
where the father has
lost himself for fear’s sake.

You say you want peace,
but it’ll never be found
in bottles marked, “apathy.”

I miss a past you,
who comes in present dreams.

Quate

Lightest blue
reflection back: saddening eyes.
In the mirror that is the endless sky,
do You sit behind a cloud’s cover & cry?

Below, my head is hung as the sun
dipping back beneath a fading horizon,
silently bowing–waiting to receive night’s shameful shadow.

Dying of daylight fills this place
& the echoes of careless words begin to echo a voice reserved for the breaking of a soul-resignation.

I have been let go by those hardest to fulfill
& yet I’m held–

still.