Another Day To Come

Broken and jagged you let me crumble,
cold and selfish you closed the door.
Isolating and lonely I shiver in pain.
Anger and sadness war for my heart,
winner takes all, and all will be lost

I fold this memory and tuck it away,
I have no use for it now.
Another day I will watch it burn
ashes stinging my eyes, red with flames.

A Memory of Home

I felt at home, like a remembered scent on the breeze
of flowers blooming forever in a shared memory
and of smoke rising to meet leaves quivering in the new heat
and sounds of laughter escaping the firm grasp of time
I felt at home, like a good luck charm warming in my pocket

Pushing

My mind remains a constant jumble of thought,
while the battle to stay or go is slowly fought.
A comforting routine or new adventure for me await,
and with a small push forward I will find my fate.
Though while my life is colored golden I still seek more,
to rip and crumble these enclosed white walls of four.
And then beneath the broken resides a beginning of new,
for now in a world of restrictions I will do what I do.

The Flames of Change

It burns to life, blue, yellow and orange
it flicks and sway, dancing with life
a symbol of hope, unity, strength

To light the world full of darkness
a beacon to the lost
a reminder that some beauty burns to bright to be touched

With fire comes a lightness
burns the body but never the soul
holds the hopeless and hopeful alike

Consuming, destroying, empowering, unapologetic
shifting, molding, constant change
just to stay alive

continued The Beginning

"As expected the rain did not hinder the boys going to the field, but to my disbelief she never woke me, but let me keep pretending to sleep and listening to the pounding sound of water droplets against the roof. The way she took in a deep breath at my door, but refused to use it on words gave me the sense that she knew, but for once let her mind forget it.
I pondered if this was a trick. Stay at home with only mama, Aunt Beey and me to occupy the same confines of the wooden dwelling to aid in their labors of cooking the following day's meals. It was Saturday, meaning tomorrow was Sunday and no one cooked on church day. That day was reserved for silent prayers and reading one's Bible, aside from the obvious even of church service and Sunday school for us kids. Sunday meals were left to be made and prepared on Saturday.
Perhaps mama simply took pity on me for the trouble all the boys gave me when I went to the fields. I didn't seem to belong there either and they never let me forget it. Always jabbering on about a lady's place being in the house; cooking, cleaning and caring on with babies. Papa would yell once or twice to hush the voices and to work, but he even agreed to some extend with the boys' and only hollered as duty saw fit.
Maybe she was punishing me for all those times I spoke out of turn, or spoke at all. I always found my mouth speaking the words of my mind, and for a women, no less a girl, speaking such thoughts was unheard of and far from being lady-like behavior. Censoring myself never came easy, but looking back I'm glad it didn't. I got the sense that it never came effortlessly to mama either. Though through the progression of time she learned. When or if I would learn I didn't know. No matter mama's reasoning, I was free from the fields for the day. I was free from the boys' ridicule and banter. The feeling of relief flooded my body and eased my mind, slipping me back into a restful sleep."

The Beginning

"One of the most vivid childhood memories I have began with the sound of rain against the window resting just to the right of my small bed. The never came out that day, it just cowered behind the darkening clouds. The layers of rain pelted the soil with gratitude, giving the droplets a purpose and place to land. As the water dribbled down the smudged glass, I stayed in bed. I remember trying not to move or open my eyes so she wouldn't know I was awake. I knew the rain wouldn't stop her from making me go to the fields with the boys, just like every Saturday. I hated going to the fields. But that's where I belonged, or so everyone said. I couldn't behave like a lady and until I could I would go to the fields like a boy. Despite my hatred for the fields, being what they all thought to be a lady wasn't in my nature, nor did I necessarily want it to be. Kneading dough for the evening meal, sweeping floors that attracted the same dirt as the day before; washing, drying, folding laundry in an endless cycle, turning butter for what seemed like hours only so papa could eat it. It all made me want to be a man."
Rose stopped, with a smile crinkling along her thin and practically see-through lips. And then she continued as if the memory were playing on a screen in front of her face.
"Well, not literally per say, but for all the endowments that glided along side a mans' body. Freedom and power, independence and a sense of entitlement which sounded with every step of their feet and sway of their arms. The privilege of being a man constantly plagued my mind with indignation and pure, but honest, loathing. The lack of having sheer greatness dangling between my legs yielded me as lesser a person than those who possessed such an attribute, acquired through rigorous work and aptitude, of course. Being born a boy must have been a battle they won while in the womb, a battle I was unaware of occurring."
Sarcasm lit her eyes quickly and then blew past in an instant, when her self-control rose to hide her face. Letting her breath ease slowly, Rose reached for her small cup of warming water. Small sips soothed her paper tongue and sandy throat. Searching her mind she found the last scene visited and pushed play...

winter wonders

Gray clouds swallow the sun's warmth
leaving only a chilled gloom behind.
Bare branches shutter in the wisps of wind
like bones shivering at winter's tight grasp.

White unblemished snow flutters down
landing with a sting of cold upon warm flesh.
Lips curve upward in a faint smile;
warm white puffs of breath slowly escaping.

Dormant brown grass blades fold with the weight;
body facing toward the sky and flattening to the earth.
Eyes searching out each flakes' downward decent,
falling with a delicacy of weightless freedom