Kind Words

Thank you

for your words, whether

Kind or not

Matters not

What matters is 

You wrote.

Took me months to look

At the abandoned page 

Empty for years so

I didn’t think to see 

But you wrote, as ever,

Exactly what I needed to hear

From my teacher, my spiritual guide

Through the journey 

The long turning of this decade.

Thank you

For your kind words, you

Once said to me.

And now to you. Thank you.

Without Asking

You don’t have to ask.
I’ve already forgiven
what you did, many

Years ago, fading
deep misty subconscious fears
of throwing open

The bright burning
connection that should stay closed
or I might just go

Mad with too much heart
too much of everything turned
to scorched, ruined ash.

I like my life now.
So I forgive you, truly.
And leave you behind.

Easter Sunday 2016

Logged on to post
about how much
I love Cadbury’s crème eggs
and saw instead
that 65 people
mostly women
blown up by a suicide bomber
in Pakistan, with
another 280 injured.
There is no respite today.
My prayers again to the world
for renewal of spirit,
for healing of our sickness,
and for peace in our time.

This is My America

This is my America.

I wake up each day, grateful, 

knowing my great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers
traveling to this land from across wide seas
not knowing if they could build a life
but opportunity lay ahead
and nothing but persecution lay behind
and they took their Adonai with them
bundled in miniature handmade scrolls
and velvet head coverings.

Knowing that my husband’s ancestors came long before that
either forced onto ships in shackles
for hard lives of brutal labor
or fleeing green hills barren of food
to come here and find plentiful bounty
but hatred still
No Irish signs popping up like
hillside clovers in store windows.

Knowing that my children carry this with them, and more
because their own grandparents,
their father’s familia,
moved here from warmer southern lands
following the trails of San Father Serra
up into Los Angeles
blendings of Latino heritage and cultures,
from California to Texas.

This is my America.

One household, united under God,
With liberty and justice for us all.

Challenge

She’s gone and they expect the crowds

the mourners will overflow, hundreds

will pack into too small of a space.

Rent out a grand room, to hold everyone

who wants to pay their respects.

And I look around, lost in the throng,

amidst and adrift

and ask myself

What good can I do now,

so when I die, years hence,

I will be mourned like this?

What good can we all do now?