What scene did she make?
The one we can’t
cut her out of
but not
It’s a Wonderful Life
a story written by
An orphan
she married the musician
artist and writer
Escaped into his script

He took work in the foundry
Forged a family
Kissed her with
factory blistered lips
Caressed her
with calloused hands
Sang her songs
Wrote her poems
After their day jobs
had captive all-nighter
utopian longings

Two roads converged
Their children grew confused
and tossed between
his creative soaring heart
and smouldering rage
against The Man
Unpublished work
engraved his closed walls
His genius wrapped in a shroud
of secrets and poverty
She began plying peace
at any price
Weary of schemes

Then left
and she could breathe
Found the right words
her children’s dreams
Saw their gold
cast pure and radiant
Told her amazed
new literary friends
who asked her
What scene did you make?
Being no martyr no hero
in that bed she’d made
simply said
I should have made one


children waves

Photos courtesy Flickr Creative Commons (top by Lance Cheung, bottom by Giuseppe Tripodi)



When the indigo blanket of night
unfolds so softly and deep
over low silky clouds of lavender
apricot and the palest green
faint twinklings of starlight signal
new horizons of hope
I rise and grip my compass

Across this darkening desert
waves of hot sand swirl me
high above those statued saguaro
guardians of that wasteland
Cool breezes now whispering stories
laughter and music and dancing
I hear the ever green beckon

Near a cold glassy lake in a forest
where grasses are dewy and sweet
friends and companions are waiting
eager to share in our crossings
Sparkling eyes around the campfire
anchored beneath a wheeling sky
I sleep by this fire again