Motherless Daughters

We are the motherless daughters

We’re scattered across the globe

We wear the cloak

Like an itchy coat

An attire we can't disrobe.

We are the motherless daughters

Traveling territory unknown

Forever searching within our loss

At another taste of home.

We are the motherless daughters

Missing more than words can say

The woman who gave us more than life

And took more than that away..

We are the motherless daughters

Left with memories, trinkets, advice,

Trying to make that be enough

Knowing it won’t suffice.

We are the motherless daughters

A tribe of another tongue

An anonymous bond throughout the land

The loss that binds you as one.

We are the motherless daughters

Owners of a tender heart

Filling our schedule on Mother’s day

Battling the urge to fall apart.

We are the motherless daughters

Lacking but lucky everyday

Hoping she'd be proud of the woman

The mirror puts on display.

We are the motherless daughters.

Fruit Stand

You be careful what questions you let form on that tongue. The answers may not be wrapped in a pretty pink bow laid at your feet. Sometimes truth is like tripping into a bear trap camouflaged in the woods- it can break bones. One can walk away with that new grisly knowledge you just had to have and remain intact. Courage can take many blows and still encompass a beating heart.

Even the prettiest truths have their angles.

No, no.... I aint saying that! There's always good just like there's always bad and everything else between. Now just take a look at your face in the mirror. What you housing in there? When you gonna give that thing inside you a pasture to roam free in? Let it find its own way? No, you don't own it and it doesn't own you if you don't let it. Just cuz the darkness gets in doesn't mean it owns the title on your house. That sly lodger is paying by the day, honey. You weren't born with that sadness in you. You can evict him anytime you really want to.

It's o.k. you cry. Tears are a good way of draining out all that's draining you. Just think if we couldn't let out our tears! If we just digested them, my god.... it would sure be easy to predict the suicides huh? They'd all be rolling down the street like snowballs taking everything out with them, filled up with a flood of grief ready to pop any moment.

No, i aint making light. I just think it's real good we can get rid of our grief naturally - expel it so it doesn't sit in us adding up. Anything added up can get out of hand.

I agree, it aint fair. But...what is? Fair aint a word that should pertain to life. There's what is and aint and what we can do and what we can't. Trouble comes i think from people who stop believing in what they can do or say or change. What's really bad is indifference. When we see events and people generally and lump a ho-hum easy answer on it and turn on our t.v.'s.

O.k. I'm sorry - Maybe you don't watch much t.v., but that's not the point. We look away, we disregard what we don't think effects us and carry on like we have no stake in it. But, we're all key players in the war against ourselves, everyday. We create what we loathe, we complain when we're unhappy, and we sit back waiting for the world to change us instead of the other way around. We don't participate in our own betterment.

No, not just you honey, everyone. No one is exempt. I aint saying shame on you for not being Mother Theresa, but just think...... If we could all learn to fix ourselves first. If we could learn to look in that mirror and evict the darkness, learn to listen to the ugly answers and remain intact. If we could learn to be resolute in not just surviving but living - there is a big difference. When that happens, anything is possible, but not until it does. How in the world can we take on what's outside of us with any clarity when we can't deal with what's not?

You take a strong bite of that peach honey. It will make ya feel better. A warm, Georgia peach sun soaked right off the tree can't be beat. What's that? oh o.k. then. Well, that comes to $4.99 and you make sure to hold the bottom of that bag or all those peaches might be splat at your feet before you get home! I sure will honey, no problem. You come by and see me again, ya hear?

Flypaper

I caught your moonbeam in my flypaper and wanted to return it - well, i didn't want to but one needs all the light they can in this dark place. I knew it belonged to you because the light you bring into a room is like a signature. What you radiate stains everything around.

I rallied with the Wiliams Duo in Wimbledon and marveled at their chiseled frames as they raced me around the court like a headless chicken. I hadn't seen their talent and skill since Seles and Graf, and their stature and physique was unparalleled. I got a small sniff of the hundreds of thousands of hours they'd dedicated to becoming the very best at what they do. They were kind enough not to ace every serve into the galaxy. I asked appreciatively for a signed ball.

I went black Opal hunting in the dusty, hot rock beds of Nevada. The stale sun scorched my skin and my knuckles were bloody when i finally unearthed the most precious of fire Opal from the dry ground. I couldn't take my eyes off it for days - I turned the gem for hours in my mitts, catching light and peering into brilliant hues of indescribable color. It's searing bright, pure beauty brought tears to my eyes and i had forgotten totally about the 8 band-aids wrapped around my skin.

I stumbled blindly into a thrift store shop to book-scout on a dreary rainy day. The clouds painting their own grim masterpiece across the vast sky. I eyed spines with dull interest until the second to last book on the bottom shelf. Spine cap almost completely torn off, half leather binding beaten and exhausted from wear and age. All cover lettering faded and illegible. The frail title page was foxed and stained with short tears at the edges - it read, "Herbal remedies used in South East Asia" The book's date was faint but i discerned 1845. The rear endpaper held the text of this copy being a Limited/Numbered Edition, this being #42 out of 150 copies in the world. I brought my sad book to the register and paid $2.50 and then walked home.

There were 4 copies available for sale online. The least expensive starting at $2,500. I quickly deduced this was the best $2 I had ever spent.

These odd things and more have happened to me in my quiet life. I try hard not to think about it all too much, but when i do i smile feeling lucky and blessed in some fashion.

I look around to see what evidence i have of these events. My signed Tennis ball was discovered by my cat and quickly made a pin cushion for claws of unforgiving nature. Fuzzy and disheveled, any signatures by top athletes of the world can't even be deciphered. The precious Opal caught a good friend's eye one day and with utmost love and devotion was gifted to them. The leather bound book was sold. The money spent - I can't even recall on what.

The flypaper however still remains. The one that caught your moonbeam I had to return. It's basic use expired with age, but it's visual reminder worth more than all my adventures combined.

That Girl

I wish i could be That girl. You know, the one who can just be happy that you're kinder now. The one that can learn how to see you brand new. That girl with the huge heart and mind that isn't in denial but completely beyond being angry, bothered or aggravated and needing something from you to make her feel better.

These words are all negatives and somehow less. I don't want to feel or mean less. I want to be That Girl. And not just the fictional girl in movies and books that works through their stuff in 10 seconds/pages and comes out better - because i believe someone relative to that can exist non-fictionally. That Girl.

I've met shades of her in women I've known in my life. But never the complete package deal. What is that you ask? well, she is the girl who is smart enough to acknowledge, look at deeply and feel what they do and then approach their subject with no holds barred. AND, in the end, gain confidence, understanding and perhaps respect for said subject enough to be on good terms in the future with all dirty laundry aired and folded in some consenting pile. THAT is the girl. In her own courage she has unbeknown-st to her gained utmost respect and a better understanding of the world in general and specific. She exists around the globe everywhere, she does and i feel her.

She is a conqueror. A woman who doesn't say, "I've been hurt" with a period but a comma -

She intends to change what she can in her own life and others for the greater good. That Girl.

She has lived with the world's appraisal of her sex and possibilities with a sly smile and always raises her hand first before challenging any rule, but she always raises her hand.

She is my hero. Perhaps with a bit more understanding and time i can learn to be my own?

Rubbing Beads

I was watching my cousin's six year old boy rub the rosary on every bead and i smiled. This Catholic tradition doesn't hold much importance for me, but i knew it did to Grandpa.

If he could see this unfold, Perhaps in his golden years he would find affection for this act. Kids biting off more than they could chew.
Trying so hard to understand and believe what they were told..

As the prayer was chanted repeatedly i sighed and wished more than anything i could ask my Mother why she dropped the Catholic faith, but i couldn't.

After the 4 quick seconds paid to that task, the child grew bored and I empathized in my own way- being a grown adult I couldn't lean heavily on my mother's shoulder or tap the pew in front of me in some secret rhythm a child's mind only hears.

As each predictable prayer started again I watched the boy in front of me. Curious and random in his movements, eyes darting to every colored glass mosaic in the window being highlighted by the most minimal sunlight. Jesus, Mary, Peter.... my mind reeled I suppose as did his. Then the plastic Rosary beads got another good rub and an elbow to Mom on which bead they were on now.

I grew itchy in the ironed suit i wore....feeling silly and overdone compared to the comfortable attire my co-mourners wore. The button in the middle of my breasts holding all together threatening expiration. I made no extreme movements, breathing evenly with no sudden movements. Somehow, I literally held it all together - through the service at the church, the burial site and the perish. The boy in front of me holding tight to his last plastic bead.

I only selfishly mention my suit at all because i had labored two and a half weeks to find the right one. Having attended my Grandma's funeral only a year and a half earlier i wanted to be better prepared, and wear something nicer. And like so often that occurs in our quest to find the perfect thing, we over-indulge.....leading us to only feel uncomfortable and over-exposed. In other words, i stood out like a sore thumb. A sore thumb ready to pop out and become pornographic at the slightest sneeze.

And yet, something odd happened when i stopped fretting so much...

I forgot.

Between listening to the pastor talk of Grandpa and speaking with various family at the grave site and afterward, I completely forgot about my own 'tight' predicament.

I don't recall seeing my cousin's boy again until we were at the perish. Various foods were put out and people mingled - somewhere near the end I recall a flash of energy and a small tailored suit whiz by.. It wasn't until then I realized that the boy of much boredom looked as good as if not far better than I did (perhaps he was just having far more fun?)

I smiled to myself. But not just myself. Somewhere deep down i knew Grandpa saw the whole darn day.... Agnostic, uncomfortable me and all. Somewhere he was smiling and feeling o.k. with it all. Perhaps beside him was Mom and Grandma. I'd like to believe they were - and being Agnostic i can't say where it was...perhaps Grandpa, Grandma and Mom were out hiking in the Siskiyou mountains stopping to watch us? i don't know...but some strange part of me feels better thinking they were all together.

It's the comfort in that thought that suddenly made my suit feel not so tight.

Masters

Death is a fortress
Immovable mass
Solid and towering
Shimmering brass

Death is a blessing
To many that ask
For desperate requests
Irreversible tasks

Death is a shadow
To live in each day
Hiding the lessons
Behind grief and decay

Death is a knowledge
With a Masters Degree
And the Clearest sight granted
From which you'll ever see.

Liquid Diamonds

How does one get lost in the sea-scape of time and find their way out? Follow the liquid diamonds....squint to see them, pausing is the only way.

If i had done this, been there, said that, life would have baked a better bread. Well, the crust would've been more golden, but it still might have been gooey inside. What ifs are wishes on stars...

Cast out your line with confidence. A limp line knows the difference. Even if you don't mean it, fake it until you do.

Swish your way through the muck. Live like you're on both sides of the water. Hold your pole firm, and swim like you can't find a bigger obstacle to dodge. And when you have, you will find your liquid diamonds.. Lost and found. Cut and polished up for your consumption. All yours.