Daughter

Daughter, I've misplaced you
In the bustle of my life
I've mislaid you
there was never enough time
never enough...

It makes scant difference now.

The things I would have taught you
the memories to share
mean nothing now to me but broken dreams
of a daughter who will never be.

Tide

Gentle swells the sea
inviting me,
she beckons
wave after wave of promise
Gentle, she will wash away
the Salt of my tears
the tang of my fears
In saltier, gentle waves

I wade in

Cold, bracing,
I gasp,
rush of life
embrace the passing of my strife
to the deep embrace
of the salt sea

Ah, but she lies,
fickle Mistress
Cold-hearted Bitch.

Her once-gentle swells
pound me
grind me
press me back
and birth me on the sandy shore,
then roll again to her bossom
beckoning
as I lay spent upon the beach

With Tiny Hands

With tiny hands
they touched our hearts
they filled our lives with joy
and stayed not nearly long enough,
those little girls and boys

Born too sick and born too soon
we did all that we could stand
and though we wanted them to stay
it wasn't in God's plan

We remember each and every face
each cry, each little hand
And wish them peace and endless grace
in Our Father's golden land

Traction

I was a child in traction,
Pulled against the weight of greed,
An innocent victim of needless litigation.
I remember tight straps on my feet,
To keep me from being pulled away.

"Traction," she said today.
I am a grown woman.
The physical therapist speaks again
and washes me in cold darkness.
"Won't hurt a bit."

But the thought
Of being pulled,
of being chained to the weight
of some one else's making
Makes me heavy-hearted and afraid.

I remember too well,
As a child,
Being pulled apart.

City Nights

The city lives.
It breaths in and out
with the flight of metal monsters
with the flow of people walking, sitting, talking
beneath gray skies that never see stars

The buildings tower.
They lean over wide roadways,
offer scant shelter to the denizens of the slick streets
offer scant solace by their blank, gray faces
by the dim glow of smog and twilight..

Ah, but the beauty of their multitudes
glimmering in the dark of city nights.
They shine like gems in a movie star's tiara.
They rise in the darkness to pay homage
to the heavens they obscure with their might.

Elevator Etiquette

Unnamed fear taps a tango down my spine,
Partnered with desire
To flee this confinement of the spirit,
As finger-smudged, steely doors close out the world
And enclose me in a hot refrigerator box
With a half-dozen other sardines.

A nervous smoker flicks a pen between her fingers
In time to the nervous tattoo of my heart.
The stink of her dirty habit permeates the scanty air
Stealing what little calm I have.

Eyes dance around, flitting this way and that,
Or fixate on unidentifiable carpet spots
To avoid the touch of another person's gaze.
I await the moment when the air won't be so stale
With the press of bodies hugging dingy walls,
Where they huddle, rooted in place by the press of gravity,
Trying to make themselves small, unnoticed, untouched.

I stare at the lighted numbers, counting silently down
And hold my breath as the tinny speaker sounds,
"First floor. Marketplace to your right. Have a nice day."
Those prison doors slide open sluggishly,
And I slip through the narrow maw
As it closes to catch it's next human feast.