All that holds me
to this earth,
bound and abandoned,
are hope, dreams, and love.
A threefold cord, they’ve told me,
is not easily broken.
Nor should it be,
but the struggle
the way we’d like this
Clinging to life
by ethereal thread,
I hope it holds my dreams,
and love not sever it.
With shades of orange and pink, the rising sun smoothed the jagged edges of the snowcapped moutains, rendering them deceitfully gentle for a time.
Topping his final rise, the bedraggled soldier Olnan saw the shrine in front of him, not too far away now. Taking time to rest, breathing deep of the fresh, chilled air, he took a moment to admire its beauty.
As he admired it, a memory came unbidden, but not unwelcome.
His father was holding his hand. He seemed happy enough, but his breathing was labored at this high altitude.
“Are you well, father?”
He smiled at the note of adult concern in his son’s voice. “Yes, Olnan. I’m fine. We’re here now. All is well.”
“Do you want me to go in with you?” He was curious to see the inside of an actual shrine.
“Of course I do. It’s time for you to learn the rituals I perform that honor the ancestors.”
“Like …. ” Olnan took a moment to figure it out. “… your grandfather?”
His father laughed with pride. “Yes, Olnan! Well done! Yes, like my grandfather, but also those who came before him. We owe them a great debt we can’t repay. They went through many things to settle us here, and faced hard times.”
Olnan beamed at the praise.
His father lapsed into silence, but didn’t move. Olnan knew when that happened that he was supposed to wait; Father was remembering something unpleasant. When he spoke again, his voice was husky with emotion.
“But they didn’t give up.” He looked down at Olnan. “Let’s go, son.”
Still holding Olnan’s hand, they entered the shrine.
Olnan felt warmed by the memory, and sadness at the empty space beside him now hit him unexpectedly hard. He took another moment to gather himself.
And now, my father has become an ancestor, and I’m not yet a father myself.
He took the offering pack that held the ritual’s needs off his back and held it instead.
It seemed even now that he could see his father there at the door, motioning for him to come inside.
Taking a deep breath, he walked toward the shrine, smiling through his tears.
One day, my children…
These words, each one,
holds a piece of me,
pulling apart like fingers in
a warm loaf of bread.
Then other words come
and add their own flavor to it:
some bitter, some sweet
some tart, some tasteless,
but always the words remain.
While I am here to tend them,
they’ll continue to gather me
from every hidden corner
of my mind.
“Are you so eager to leave me?”
“I am eager to leave. Are you so reluctant
to accompany me?”
Between nothing holding me here,
and you with no reason to stay,
we can break the bonds.
But one must
make the sacrifice.
It comes down to trust,
for while love is the fruit,
trust is the seed.
Both reach out, but neither grasps.
Both turn their backs, but neither leaves.
They search each other’s eyes, but neither
The fork in the road is here.
We’ll walk one path together,
or two, alone.
It’s time to go.
A soft spring sunset
filters through park tree leaves.
Travelers fill the roads, heading home
to late dinners and early bedtimes,
prepping to complain about Monday morning.
Time is seized by pets and children,
and the night’s calm settles like a
or a hug,
or a shroud.
And just for a while,
the veneer of normalcy
“What do you see in me?”
You really care.
“Not just my eyes and my figure and hair?”
All of those things are as fleeting as snow.
“So what do you see in me?”
I think you know.
I see the way that you watch
when you think
I am not looking and having a drink.
I see the way that you smile at my faults,
but not at my failings; my wounds get no salt.
I see the way you receive me at night.
Even in anger, you make it alright.
I see the way that you smile at the sun,
holding my hand as we laugh, walk, and run.
I see the way that you cry in the rain,
holding me tight as you’re sharing your pain.
I see the life in you thriving inside,
happy to have him along for the ride.
I see the way that
your heart beats for me.
What do I see in you?
All there could be.
The timelessness of mutual expressions
meet on a city street.
Music inspired the dance inspired the music…
turning in a soulful waltz,
into the soul
and make children called
She dances across the notes,
He floats when she leaps,
and the electric connection
has its way with them both,
until it is sated,
and they part,
as the reverb of melody,
of improvised, wind -borne brass,
and the whispering tap-click- scrape
of slippered steps
fade in echoes,
across the waking avenues
they both call