Feb 16

my lightning (a reminder to all that there is warmth in this world)

i lay there looking out through my window
at the full moon,
the perfect ball of golden light.
i tip-toed to my window and peered outside.
the lawn flickered with small lights,
dancing through the tall meadow grass.

it was a hot summer night in Vermont.
one where you can only get away from the heat
if you sleep with an
ice pack on your head,
three fans, and no clothes. 
I scrambled to pull on my nightgown in the dark
and quietly slip out of the house.
once i had successfully closed the screen door without a noise
i broke into a run through the tall grass.

the lightning bugs were a flash of light in the blackness
as i patted,
barefoot through the meadow.
i reached the barn on the hill and climbed the ladder to the hayloft.

i sat there the rest of the night.
quietly contemplating my future. 
would i have a farm like this?
would i marry?
Feb 14

fog spirits

when i was younger
i always thought that when ever a bird sang
it was the call of a lonely deceasted soul,
calling out to the world in the most gracious
and gentle way it could:
by song.

i would stand at my window
on the mornings when the fog was too thick to see the harbor 
and wait
for those gentle souls to show themselves
to me.

sometimes i could make out the silent figures
and when ever i did,
i would whisper
through the hazy light of the early morning
that it was a pleasure to meet such quiet people.

i thought that they were perfect.
they always listened and watched,
never talked.

they knew, like me
that its good to have some people in the world
that were just there to observe it.
because so many others put out, you had to take it in. 

"The best time to talk to ghosts is just before the sun comes up.
Feb 13

beyond the doorstep

She stood at the edge of the water,
looking out to the vast sea ahead of her.
she had never seen such an angry sea 
before in her life 
and it frightened her to watch it bubble up and churn
in such a way.

He stood at the edge of the prarie,
gazing out at the wild, whipping strands of straw 
that continously had the want to pull loose
of the damp, overrulling soil that held their roots in place.

The rain poured down on both children and drove them,
frightened into their tiny, dry houses
to wait out the overwhelming storm raging just out side their door steps.

They crawled under their quilts
and sat by the fire
to keep the cold from their bones
and hope in their hearts. 

And once the raging monster
that had just hours ago,
ripped the delicate prarie grass from the earth
and tore at the silent, gentle sea subsided 
they crawled from their quilts
Feb 12

Freedom


 
We never
did what we were told,
for why were boundaries
made if you never could
follow them.
If you never could
make them, push them
or break them.
 
We were fighters
in a way no one had been before.
We were used
to rules that were made
by powerful forces,
ones we were told
we could never be.
 
We used our minds,
thought of advantages,
planed step by step.
We used your weaknesses, your shames
and slowly we became
something better
than you, something more powerful.
That’s how life
was though:
small things were made
into big ones.
 
We thought such things
were fragile,
for if you fumbled once
you could break it,
ruining a moment forever.
We didn’t just think so
we knew so.
 
We would travel
many miles
only to turn back,
but not once did we think
it a waste of time,
Feb 12

Volcano

Alive.
Was all I thought
as I ran
through the field
of tall meadow grass
that warm July day.
 
I was alive
and no one could stop
me from touching
happiness.
 
She ran feet
behind me
gasping for air
and squealing for me
to slow down even though she knew
it was a race
and I wouldn’t slow
in all my life.
 
Because once the match
touched my skin
I couldn’t stop burning
until I was cool, grey ashes
put out by some force
of unknown magic.
 
He ran feet ahead of me,
always a volcano
when he ran
not the timid fire like me
and not at all close to her;
the red coals,
barely burning.
 
He had pulled ahead
in the beginning,
“Girls,” he said
“just can’t run as fast as boys.”
 
But I knew he was wrong
and I was going to prove it.
 
Fires I knew could burn
Feb 12

summer of dreams

That summer
was the summer
we sat on the shore,
our feet resting
on the damp sand,
staring out at the water
feeling the warm breeze
on our sunkissed skin.
 
We would watch
the sunset
on the horizon in silence
and then splash
knee deep into the cold,
churning sea; screeching with delight
and racing to see
who could dive first
into the salty, wild
world beneath the waves.
 
We would climb
out of the water then
fully soaked,
the hem of our summer dresses
hanging limp
around our ankles
and pull seaweed ribbons
from our tangled hair.
 
We would patter
home barefoot,
always amazed at how long
our wet footprints
stayed on the asphalt
after the sun had gone
and laugh about
who looked the most
like a child born
from the sea.

On the way home
we would always stop
at the candy store

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