It’s funny how a family grows
in newly cutely ways.
my one of origin hurt me raw
tipping through the centuries.
the new family I’m creating now
is startling me anew
i have so much love around
a fresh purpose to pursue.
I have two choices in life, as I peruse
the menu of the near middle-aged:
to close my heart, keep it starved,
or remain open to all manner of plates.
A closed heart is cruel, deluded,
refusing the delicacies of life,
complains about service, never leaves a tip,
self-righteously deprived of that extra slice.
An open heart can skip to the table
that’s rich with the finest cuisine,
selects the plump, the juice, the core,
and dines with the grace of a queen.
Hard-of-heart leaves me safe but cold.
An open heart is at risk of hurt.
Hard-of-heart picks at the bones of life.
Open heart eats starter, mains, dessert.
I’m putting my order in now…
On a good day I see in the flames
a dancing horse, swishing tail
head upright, ears aloft,
prancing to the heat of the fire,
soul alight with joy.
On a bad day I see in the flames
a devilish anger that burns down
all my hard work, a ghoulish glee
that turns my dreams to ash,
hope depleted, plans destroyed.
Stand tall, stand true.
Find balance in what you do.
My four diamond holes
to help find what you extol.
My three central blocks
to stay firm against life’s knocks.
The column at my core
to align with what you adore.
The security at my base,
to remind you to live with grace.
Tides come, tides go,
time shoots its arrows.
Stand true, stand tall.
One day you won’t be here at all.
She made my favourite the times I came to visit:
lamb steak, succulent and softening in the oven;
glass of red on the side, slinky in finest crystal.
It was the only way she showed me she cared.
My response to Day Six of NaPoWriMo 2016: write about food