dresses

 I took down the hem because I was tall,

taller than my mother had been,

taller than my grandmother,

thin as both,

playing dress up in hand me downs,

wanting to wear pink and be a girl,

but fitting into overalls better,

twirling around the back bedroom,

getting caught and in trouble for not asking first,

then being dressed up like a doll in hats and crinolines,

laughing like a child,

wearing the clothes of other generations.

How different we all were at our different times in history.

That fading pink dress with bolero,

full of memories, not just mine, but theirs,

and now in my closet. 

That fading pink dress that no longer fits my adult frame,

hanging carefully in the back of the closet.

That fading pink dress that brings her back.

A precious piece of history and just a fading cotton dress.

I took the hem down because I was tall.

concert anticipation

 

That shadowing area as you enter the crowd, leave behind the awkward light of the single bulb over the bar, to be swallowed by the bodies that sway to yet un-played rhythms; waiting for the band to begin, they vibrate with anticipation. It takes a moment to adjust to the dim, but then she appears in the crowd, a spotlight only you can see guides you to her smile, and you begin to relax and then the two of you dance and sway and suddenly no one else is there.

Flirting (akwardly)

We lean against the same bar,

watching the band, 

every time you shift your weight, 

I feel it in my back, 

I try not to look, 

not to feel you, 

but I want to feel you.

Holiday Angst

This is not one my typical posts. It isn't a little tiny story or a "poem" The holidays are so hard for so many of us, but somehow it feels like we shouldn't say anything about it. We shouldn't be glum, we shouldn't dread the company Christmas "Holiday" Party, we shouldn't feel like skipping Thanksgiving this year, and we shouldn't let any one know that watching the kids open presents isn't the joy to us that it should be. My holiday issues aren't as bad as some, but I still feel a little guilty. I feel like I shouldn't really dread the 8 hour plus drive, alone, again. I should be excited to see my family, and I am. I just wish I had a family of my own. I have no partner, no children. I'm the one who moved away, so by power of majority, I'm the one who has to travel. I've never even thought to invite my family to come south. I know they wouldn't anyway. I don't have a place for them to stay. Maybe if I had a big house, or little kids, or lived in a vacation spot, it would be different. But it's not. So, I have to travel. I love to travel. I really do. But. There's something there I can't really but into words. I know I shouldn't complain at all. Anyhow, the last few years have been different with the global pandemic. People are excited to gather and celebrate now that it is clearing up. But some of us, like me, aren't ready for all that attention again. I'll be the one trying to melt into the couch or standing just outside the doorway. I skipped Thanksgiving this year. I skipped Friendsgiving this year. Being with a bunch of people wears me out. I live alone now, I do everything alone. I work from home: no water cooler banter for me. I love my job and being able to work from home. I don't know. It's not perfect. It's great and I'm thankful, but something is missing. Everyone thinks if you work from home, you can work from your bed, in your jammies, or while you watch TV or play with your pets. But I have a job to do. I can't mess around. I do my laundry sometimes during work hours. But loading and unloading the machines is less time than some people take for smoke breaks. I do enjoy using my own bathroom, having access to my kitchen, and my music. It's a sweet gig. It is. But it is making me anti-social and lonely and wanting people all at the same time. Back to Christmas. I miss my mother so much at Christmas. I miss being little. I miss traditions. We only have one little left in our family and she just became a teenager. So, everything is different now. And I have a homesickness for a time and place I'll never get back. I love Christmas lights. I always have. But even those aren't the same. People now have those giant inflatable things on the lawns, or they decorate too much, or the colors are off. I am an old soul, I guess. I have a particular kind of Christmas decoration that I love, and no home of my own to decorate. Even Christmas music annoys me now. I've only had one New Year's Eve that came close to my dream date. And then it turned weird. I want to wear a cocktail dress and go to a beautiful place with a handsome partner and dance the night away. I want to be adored and have someone to adore back. And I have. I have been adored. But I haven't had my dream come true. There's this word Hiraeth. It means homesickness for a place that doesn't exist. Hiraeth: a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past. That's how I feel. More so at the holidays. So, if you see someone being a wall flower at the holiday party or drinking too much eggnog or waiting til everyone else has filled their plate at a holiday meal, give them some extra love, because they probably feel like me. Just don't be surprised if you need to approach them with a hanky handy. I wish anyone reading this a very Happy Holiday Season!

I've done all this and still....

I've taken some broad strokes at life, I've made some tiny masterpieces, I've colored my world rose by wearing those glasses, I've been blinded by love, I've been shocked awake by loss, I've painted memories to look different in my mind, I've added color to gray days, I've glossed over my mistakes, I've muted the sunshine with my cloudy feelings, I've turned black into red. I've collaborated, I've done solo shows, I've been part of groups, seminars, classes, I've been to the school of love and the school of loss. I've looked at beauty and not recognized it, I've seen something pretty in a drab, dark space, I've done all this and still....

The Bride and Groom

 The bride walked down the aisle, slowly. In a dress of traditional white, pearls adorned her ear lobes, a chain of gold with a delicate cross around her neck, her veil attached to a halo of tiny white flowers, she was radiant. Everyone turned to see her. Except the groom. He stood with his back to her, even as his groomsmen turned to see her.  The groom listened to the parish reactions, the whispered compliments, the "ohs and ahs". He listened to the wedding march, knew the premise moment she would arrive at the parent's pew. He knew the exact moment he wished to see her. As he turned, he let out his breath, that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His deep sigh echoed in the nave. He was beholden. He felt a rush of his deep love for her. He thought in the never ending moment of his first view of his bride that he was starting a new life. He was reborn. How many lives we lead, seasons in our century. No matter how long we are blessed to live on this earth, we pass through many lives; the life of childhood, the teen years, young adulthood, perhaps spouse, parent, grandparent. We may not experience all, but we have so much life to live. He felt as though he had just finally been born. Today this beautiful woman would make him a man. Her love, her beauty, her quiet determination, her faith, her life, pledged to his as he pledged himself to her. Today was the first day of his new life. He pledged his remaining life to be entwined with hers, alongside her, supporting her, enjoying life together. Right in that moment, before the I dos, before the blessing, right then, he already married her.

The tiny canvas caught her eye daily,

often more than once a day,

sitting there amongst her trinkets and memories,

waiting to become more than it was,

the tiny pots of paint at the ready,

the brush, casually laying across the white field,

she thought of the delicate strokes the brush offered,

the vibrant red, waiting in it's pot,

the yellow gold of sunlight,

the green of earth,

and blue of sky,

she wondered what the painting would be,

flowers on a field of green,

one giant red rose,

a balloon, perhaps the hot air type, with basket below,

maybe a mermaid peaking out of the sea,

a house on a tree lined street,

something to do with the beach,

or mountains,

or a stream that wanders through woods,

maybe an animal, or a house plant,

whatever it would be,

it was ready,

but she wasn't yet. 

Soon, she told the canvas, I'll know what to do.