Remove my garment stained with sin
Drape me in clothing spun by angels in the whitest of threads
Pluck my eyes out, cleanse them with blood before placing them back in my skull
Bind my hands together, so that the right hand nor the left stray from their tasks
Nail my feet to the path you chose for me
Sew my lips together
Kiss them and breathe on them, so foul language will never escape
Children, more like toddlers run down the hall underneath large blue streamers hosting silhouettes of sea turtles and whale sharks. Chasing after them, my body rebels. At 49, every part of my body moves in protest. Worse yet, there's no comfort in rest. My legs want to swim while me head desires a pillow. Those eight hours of sleep do not exist in my world. When I wake, my back cries out. Guess this old age. My new job is to embrace it.
To my window she comes
There's not much time
Tell me your secrets and and I'll carry them with me
Sprinkle them.on the wooden path, on top of your footprints
On good days, I sit at my window.
Open my broken mind, fish out my memories
And speak
Two by two in song, they drink my words and sing
I'm dying, but my body will go on functioning in this world
In the midnight hours, I busy myself
Boxing up memories, bitter and sweet
Rereading books and poems that contain words for stirring emotion
Saying prayers with the hopes of finally getting the meditation right
Once done, I close the box on my life and bury it
Underneath the bottle tree my husband made from the wine we drank
Before the last pile of dirt was out back in place
I beg and pray that I remember one Word, just one
Weeds choke the garden, killing the pumpkins planted only months before
Half neglectful, the gardener begins to read, but only when she's bored
Finds it spiritual even
The weeding starts on the bank across the driveway
Pumpkins are dead
Let the dead bury the dead, she mutters
When she finally makes it over the side
A calm arrests her olfactory senses
Buried underneath, beauty thrives
She plucked a sprig of lavender
Devouring its sweetness of romance and promises and in a faint whisper, "God."
