Skin Deep

A bloody gouge across my ring finger
coagulated and dark by the end of the fray

Tiny teeth marks amidst pink raised skin
Ragged red streaks where fingernails have strayed

The physical signs of one morning of motherhood

These are nothing of the mental anguish,
the emotional toll
the trials and tribulations
of getting out of bed and out the door

Today there are scars to show
for all the toil
Outward reminders
of what is always underneath

Mother’s Milk

This tiny little person

latched on to my body

as long as I am wide

Miniature fist clenched around a rib of fabric,

holding on for dear life

Eyes arched in ecstasy,

then drooped in slumber

More parasitic than symbiotic,

but the sweetest symbol ever seen

 

Silver Insomniac

There’s a pool of light in the backyard
It spills over the tree tops
but appears to be carved out of the grass
an oval grotto of white,
silver amongst the shadows

If it weren’t for insomnia
I wouldn’t have seen it,
Wouldn’t have seen the cool, clear light
bright amidst the dark

Being awake at this hour seems unnatural,
is unnatural
in terms of the real world

But in the magic of these moonbeams
I am wide open

Two to Two

I went to sleep in the springtime
I awoke in summer

A riot of green,
a vibrant rush,
an air of energy

My body reclaimed and yet not my own
Inside out
the protective covering of conception gone

Gaunt fingers and ankles
ghosts of padded appendages
no longer needed to sustain life
for two

Whole again
and yet suddenly separate
A new path split
in two

Nighttime Jewels

An island of green encrusted in jewels
illuminated by the light of oncoming traffic

globes of dandelion fluff sparkling
in the beams undercutting the night mist

a field of glittering diamonds
nothing but a mess of a nuisance by day

The Ghost of Winter

The ghost of winter,

a puff of breath

whisking swirls of snow
off the branches and into the air

suspended

a last gasp of cold crystals

the pine boughs flash frozen for a moment
and then it’s gone,

green grass poking through the raised mounds of snow
pushed upwards
by the fledgling growth of spring

a delicate dance

threatening
but gone in the blink of an eye

snow.Still0021

blackhillsfox.com

Looking for Signs of Life

A brown curled claw
skittering along the ground

Singular movement amidst
the frozen expanse of pavement

Only when you get close enough to see the fingers,
knuckles scraping the rocky surface,
can you distinguish the knobs of an oak leaf,
stem protruding like a tail

Propelled by the wind

a legion of birds wrapped in wing
a chipmunk
a squirrel,
a lizard scampering by

All alive according to the eye

But in this cold raw place between snow and spring
dry, brittle leaves are all that dance
born on the rhythm of weather patterns and wishful thinking

Whirling Dervish

Hands shaking, limbs twitching, cells, veins vibrating, blood boiling.

Breath ragged, tears prickling, sobs wracking.

The physical shell spins

The mind reels

Emotions swarm and swamp

Even the calm between the swells a sad, dead place.

There is no taking a bow.

The dance is never over.

The dervish whirls and twirls herself into a tizzy.

from Abundance Created Together

from Abundance Created Together

Free Time

Bathroom floor scrubbed

Suntan lotioned bathing suits stain-treated

Nap taken

Words, pages, chapters read

Iced tea enjoyed

Bare skin breeze bathed

Weeds pulled

Pressure points needled

Junk food lunch eaten

First two days of empty nest filled

Self-Care: A Cautionary Tale

I didn’t eat breakfast.

I drank caffeine.

I didn’t take my meds.

I stared at the computer screen all day.

I reread a beautiful, but sad book.

I cried hand-clamping tears.

I had a late lunch.

I didn’t get dressed until 4 PM.

I fought with my husband.

I looked things up online by only the light of my phone.

I went to bed too late.

—————————————

I awoke at 5:45 to the crash of thunder,
the wind whirling,
the rain pummeling.
Mother Nature matching my disconcertment.
Trees torn from their roots,
leaves littering the ground –
a mess of downed limbs and debris.
But soon the sun is shining,
the water a glaze of calm.

image

Jennifer Butler Basile

Still, my head is in a vice.
My stomach churns.
There is much recovery to be done.

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