This third Sunday of June, I remember
my friends, like me, who have no father.
Resolution does not grant me the ability to forget.
Another friend has lost her father,
and there are those whose fathers have lost them
Through actions, through words.
What treasure they have lost.
Seeing my friends become great fathers is a wonder I never expected to behold,
so, I remember
friends who want that opportunity still.
And friends who are not dads, but imprint young souls each day
in their work, in their service.
I am struck by my good fortune to know them.
Reading the handwriting of a girl whose number one wish was to see her dad,
still, I remember
I am no longer her.
What treasure has he lost.
I am left
with this idea
that the fatherless,
we will be patched-up,
together.
What treasure we have gained.
Sunday, June 21, 2015
Friday, April 3, 2015
Forgotten magic
When you've had a harsh reminder that magic doesn't always last in real life, the movies do not disappoint. If you think I'm about to opine about Paul Walker and Furious 7 on Good Friday, you are right.
There's no denying that the Fast and Furious franchise is big and bold. The soundtrack is my guilty pleasure, and I want the team to be as unbreakable as they seem. Of course, I cringed at the women used as accessories to cars, I rolled my eyes at the vocabulary, and I laughed out loud multiple times at the ludicrous scenes. And at Ludacris. The movie started out too loud, and I was anxious most of the time. From fighting scene to unbelievable car chase to fighting scene, I kept waiting for the moment when I would remember why this movie was delayed a year. Why not every actor in the movie would see the finished product. I kept waiting to see how they closed the loop of Paul Walker's character.
About a half-dozen times, the movie magic was obvious. But the rest of the time, I couldn't tell that Paul Walker's brothers stood in for many of the scenes. Honestly, it was like a trip back to 2001. The first Fast and Furious meant youth: laughing with old friends, driving my first car, cruising between Sonic and the junior high.
It was hard to say goodbye to all of that.
It's been a long day without you my friend/
And I'll tell you all about it when I see you again
There's no denying that the Fast and Furious franchise is big and bold. The soundtrack is my guilty pleasure, and I want the team to be as unbreakable as they seem. Of course, I cringed at the women used as accessories to cars, I rolled my eyes at the vocabulary, and I laughed out loud multiple times at the ludicrous scenes. And at Ludacris. The movie started out too loud, and I was anxious most of the time. From fighting scene to unbelievable car chase to fighting scene, I kept waiting for the moment when I would remember why this movie was delayed a year. Why not every actor in the movie would see the finished product. I kept waiting to see how they closed the loop of Paul Walker's character.
About a half-dozen times, the movie magic was obvious. But the rest of the time, I couldn't tell that Paul Walker's brothers stood in for many of the scenes. Honestly, it was like a trip back to 2001. The first Fast and Furious meant youth: laughing with old friends, driving my first car, cruising between Sonic and the junior high.
It was hard to say goodbye to all of that.
It's been a long day without you my friend/
And I'll tell you all about it when I see you again
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
Friend
I was going to send flowers,
but then I decided to give you something else:
this empty vessel to fill.
This used, passed over, chipped,
and re-gifted space --clear as dawn.
This vase
to house the bright moments that will come.
This home for small beauties and treasures.
The sorrow, we know, is that you don't always
foresee what tomorrow will bring.
You open the door
to brief joy
or drowning grief.
You feel strange,
even to yourself.
And what was certain yesterday
is no longer certain
today.
Steady,
this vase,
to house small,
beautiful moments in time
for as long as we can keep them.
Steady,
even empty,
to remind you of the big, bright tomorrow
it cannot possibly contain.
Those bright days are the kind we wish for
in the seconds before dreaming
and the moment we awake.
This vase,
open clarity
that we miss in our own mind and soul, at times.
But, open clarity, we will see again.
This vase, tomorrow, maybe
filled with wildflowers that grow where they aren't supposed to:
joy that peaks around unseen corners when it was long lost.
We deserve more than flighty joy and dying flowers,
but we can fill this vase with anything we want.
And wait for the sun to rise,
light shining through the glass to fill the empty space.
LA, CA (9/22/14)
but then I decided to give you something else:
this empty vessel to fill.
This used, passed over, chipped,
and re-gifted space --clear as dawn.
This vase
to house the bright moments that will come.
This home for small beauties and treasures.
The sorrow, we know, is that you don't always
foresee what tomorrow will bring.
You open the door
to brief joy
or drowning grief.
You feel strange,
even to yourself.
And what was certain yesterday
is no longer certain
today.
Steady,
this vase,
to house small,
beautiful moments in time
for as long as we can keep them.
Steady,
even empty,
to remind you of the big, bright tomorrow
it cannot possibly contain.
Those bright days are the kind we wish for
in the seconds before dreaming
and the moment we awake.
This vase,
open clarity
that we miss in our own mind and soul, at times.
But, open clarity, we will see again.
This vase, tomorrow, maybe
filled with wildflowers that grow where they aren't supposed to:
joy that peaks around unseen corners when it was long lost.
We deserve more than flighty joy and dying flowers,
but we can fill this vase with anything we want.
And wait for the sun to rise,
light shining through the glass to fill the empty space.
LA, CA (9/22/14)
Friday, January 16, 2015
Distance
Two Arkansas summers ago,
I thought I knew a lot of things.
Where I wanted to be
and who I wanted to leave
Most
likely it was a deep burn that I felt.
I sought freedom from this life,
straight and narrow.
One Arkansas winter ago,
and a birthday in between,
I packed every small and big thing
and headed west
into some multi-colored sunset.
Last
feeling when I boarded that plane
was not knowing
--and I liked it.
Weeks of sleepless nights ago,
I gave up safe and easy.
I gave up the things I knew:
how my heart didn't fit his,
and how my words clanged against church walls,
and how my story struggled to be born.
Eighteen months ago
lives no closer to a happy ending
than today.
And I was no farther.
Truth, a moving target.
Happiness, a ghost.
They danced two summers ago.
And now.
LA, CA (9/10/14)
I thought I knew a lot of things.
Where I wanted to be
and who I wanted to leave
Most
likely it was a deep burn that I felt.
I sought freedom from this life,
straight and narrow.
One Arkansas winter ago,
and a birthday in between,
I packed every small and big thing
and headed west
into some multi-colored sunset.
Last
feeling when I boarded that plane
was not knowing
--and I liked it.
Weeks of sleepless nights ago,
I gave up safe and easy.
I gave up the things I knew:
how my heart didn't fit his,
and how my words clanged against church walls,
and how my story struggled to be born.
Eighteen months ago
lives no closer to a happy ending
than today.
And I was no farther.
Truth, a moving target.
Happiness, a ghost.
They danced two summers ago.
And now.
LA, CA (9/10/14)
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
Weak
The pain you caused is still there,
deep.
It stings when certain words are applied.
It curses you when it's pressed.
You, who meant nothing in all honesty,
managed to hit that soft spot,
under my armor.
And it hurt.
It still hurts.
Time has little chance with this,
because time, before you,
is what made it so
weak.
LA, CA (6/21/14)
deep.
It stings when certain words are applied.
It curses you when it's pressed.
You, who meant nothing in all honesty,
managed to hit that soft spot,
under my armor.
And it hurt.
It still hurts.
Time has little chance with this,
because time, before you,
is what made it so
weak.
LA, CA (6/21/14)
Monday, January 12, 2015
On Wild and Windy Nights
On wild and windy nights,
this city will give you a peek.
You can see underneath.
Electric lights with no direction.
Rush, rush.
Cool breeze and
too-direct sun.
Sand in the floorboard
is the only beach you'll see today.
And then...
tall black hats line the sidewalk
and laughter fills the night.
The best music and movies
always visit.
So, you remember...
the sweet watermelon drink
and bright pink trees
that trumpet the spring.
That long spring-summer that never thaws.
Never home
but maybe
just right
now.
LA, CA (4/29/14)
this city will give you a peek.
You can see underneath.
Electric lights with no direction.
Rush, rush.
Cool breeze and
too-direct sun.
Sand in the floorboard
is the only beach you'll see today.
And then...
tall black hats line the sidewalk
and laughter fills the night.
The best music and movies
always visit.
So, you remember...
the sweet watermelon drink
and bright pink trees
that trumpet the spring.
That long spring-summer that never thaws.
Never home
but maybe
just right
now.
LA, CA (4/29/14)
Saturday, January 10, 2015
Landmarks
The mountains on all sides
and the sky forever.
They make me feel
small,
less clumsy.
The mass of people
and metal
help me disappear,
but I'm not invisible.
I stand out.
That big, bold sign
that beckons others
guides me to where I sleep,
but it's not home.
Those domed lights on the hill
are a comfort,
a place away from
this.
When I need reminders
of the good,
I look up.
LA, CA (12/2013)
and the sky forever.
They make me feel
small,
less clumsy.
The mass of people
and metal
help me disappear,
but I'm not invisible.
I stand out.
That big, bold sign
that beckons others
guides me to where I sleep,
but it's not home.
Those domed lights on the hill
are a comfort,
a place away from
this.
When I need reminders
of the good,
I look up.
LA, CA (12/2013)
Thursday, January 8, 2015
Observe
The gray sky is alight with new ideas.
My mind, the same.
LA winter is gray, I'm told.
I understand.
I get winter.
There are moments where the truths in this adventure wash over me,
gray sky to light.
They are fewer than I'd like, but I try.
I wouldn't change the moment
or the sky.
(LA, CA: 11/16/13)
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