Photo by Randy Kinne on Unsplash
Do you love him? he asked
Yes, she answered a little too quickly
He could see through her lies
And her phony goodbyes
He touched her hand
His heart flickered
And he saw into her soul
His twin flame alight
You are an unfinished poem Stuck in my heart, Appearing on the horizon Like an unanswered question Simple as one-two-three, Further from reality But as real as flesh on bone The lively echo of your smile Keeps me thinking, What's left incomplete Is sometimes just as sweet As the holy "amen" At the end of a silent prayer -LTW-
I had a dream.
You treated me to a tattoo
For my birthday surprise.
I could not decide on the design
So many choices!
It’s funny, because
I realized
How hard this must be.
For you loathe tattoos
But want me to be
Happy just the same.
It was so clean and
The needle pain-free.
The final poke brought
me into a club–The Tattoo Club.
My forearm was the extremity of choice
(but never would be in real life).
Ink so bold and yet I felt the same.
I awoke before it bled,
Then I laughed as I watched you sleep beside me.
You had no idea what you had just done.
LTW.
Are you in the tattoo club?
image source: Photo by Natalie Rhea on Unsplash
I’m thinking there are two types of people in this world: those who mend and those who discard. Actually let me add a third type; those who want to mend but cannot. They take their mending to have it done by a pro (smart folks).
I used to be in the second and third category but as I’ve gotten a bit older, I mend more often. Since I was a child, I have almost ‘enjoyed’ sewing by hand. Almost. My grandma taught me how to thread the needle and how to make a few stitches. I used to watch her ‘darning’ my father’s socks when she came to stay with us. She was pretty good with a sewing needle. She did not have a sewing machine.
When I heard the news You’re gone forever, Sister, I stared into space Shocked and in pain. “God stole pink from the sky today,” Is all I could think to say. Your favorite lipstick color Imprinted on my brain. You used to say “Get on your broom And fly over to see me.” We’d laugh at our absurdity. It’s true I looked to you For comfort of your familiar face. Maybe we didn’t always agree But we turned to each other in times of misery. Maternal losses only sisters comprehend. The gravity of life, the frustration of not being heard Again and again. Your laugh always preceded you Announcing your arrival in any place. “Deb’s here,” we’d say—“the party can begin.” Know that you are impossible to forget The twinkle of laughter, the cry of your tears. We went through this life together Like a spiral still connected In those empty spaces Turned into years. God stole pink from the sky today But soon I will see you in each and every sunset. Raspberry-red wine, cloudy and glowing Mirrors your memory Forever in mine. -LT-
My deep condolences go out from my heart, to my two nephews and one niece, in addition to three grand-nieces and one grand-nephew.
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