Category: Love

Christmas Baking

Dates soften in the pan –
I stir with preoccupation
fresh-faced excitement
motivating each step.

I measure sugar, oats,
flour, the enormity
of my heart’s capacity
to love these young ones.

Add butter, and mix,
each stroke a hug,
anticipating enjoyment
a sweet connection.

Pat and bake, timer set,
bright eyes and tiny palms
lift upwards with sparkle –
Christmas cheer upon us.

(For Ragtag Community’s prompt: mix.  Image from personal collection.)

Eating Wiener Schnitzel

He craves Wiener Schnitzel
and egg rolls –
complicated request –
they settle on
Austrian, forgo
the Chinese.

Noise of the place
disconcerts her –
rather be home
or somewhere quieter
(though she’d never say),
insecurity slides in
as resentment
pulls up a chair –

How is she dining here
with indifference?

Restaurants take her back
when the heat of the kitchen
consumed her –
yelled orders,
yelled at,
rush to cater
tip or no tip

A real education,
her Father said,
but sore feet and
a broken back
left her none the wiser

Stuffiness of ochre walls,
brocade upholstery
close in, reminder
of former lovers,

She doesn’t even like milk-fed calf

Mind wanders to other walls,
now crumbled, remnants
of dreams, boundaries
set when pup- like
loyalty won hearts,
shattered her own.

So many failures
she is ashamed
feels like a stray
living off scraps

It’s a rocky path
she travels these days
solid ground a forgotten
concept, teetering
on brink of flight
no legs to carry her

Resigns herself
to Wiener Schnitzel
convinced that compromise
matters more than
personal fulfillment –

Takes a bite of baby cow and smiles.

(Eating Wiener Schnitzel first appeared here November 2016.  This edition is edited.  Image from personal collection.)

Even Ghosts Yearn

Natural light preferable
to artificial – not the harsh
fullness of noonday sun
but softly filtered rays –
luxurious, inviting.

Love too, should be subdued,
gentle as a zephyr, not mythical
but yielding, mindful;
not worshipful nor boastful,
but comforting, warm

I am waning light,
the mistral wind wafting,
no longer a force of nature –
but smoke, spiralling,
vanishing into non-existence

And yet, even as shadows
spread, I yearn –
heart beating true,
not lost, not forgotten,
but withdrawn, humbled

passion mellowed
by toil of constructing walls –
grit and tar – scar’s long buried,
save the limping gait
of a ghost.

(Poem first appeared here July, 2018.  I am resubmitting for Ragtag Community’s prompt: humble.  Image from personal collection.)

Grandma To The Rescue

September is
chilly mornings
and classroom routines,
cardigans dragged home,
and the onset of colds.

Grandma packs her bag
with activities to distract,
a soup to boost bodies
and an apple crisp
fresh from the oven.

Some days
the best education
comes snuggled under
warm blankets with
inter-generational love.

(For Ragtag Communty’s daily prompt: crisp.  Grandma duty calls, be back later!)

Empty Vessels

We’ll buy a boat,
he promised,
spend our days adrift
on a sea of possibilities.

So, she waited,
tethered her hopes
with ropes of whimsy
to a future with sails.

But years passed and
time revealed that words
hold no water, and lies
are no vessel for love.

Now, she contemplates
oceans, photographs
sailboats, docked –
possibilities set aside.