I, Rapunzel

Rapunzel

I, Rapunzel, clutched the tighter to my golden mane;

You, the wooer, prince and fighter, struggled to unchain

All those strands that held me captive to the distant past;

Strangled hopes and maladaptive dreams I had amassed

Like treasure chests with broken stocks, reduced by time to rust;

Death had killed my golden locks, and crumbled them to dust.

‘Let down your hair!’ your battle cry resounded in the dark;

But tendons tightened, terrified of barren branches; stark

My thoughts, unclothed my heart, as hope dared warm my blood;

One by one upon the start, and then a torrent flood

Descended in a golden cloud, until I stood unveiled –

Beneath my feet, a golden shroud, where former visions paled.

And now I wait, a bare-skinned maid, my Prince has won me fair;

For with the spring, I’ll grow new braids, fresh dreams will crown my hair.

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A Leaf to Turn

burnt edge

Life has hurt you; I can see

The scars from where you’ve burned –

If you’ll let go, that frailty

Could be a leaf to turn.

For something new to grow again

Where only wounds have bloomed,

The old must drop; there, space obtained,

Spring’s vigor can resume.

So say good-bye to autumn’s jaws,

To fronds aglow with strife;

For after Winter’s healing pause,

Your soul will burst to life.

 

 

 

The Hunt

seagull egg

My heart was born,

an embryo, a pale and speckled thing;  I

painted it with childish dreams, in rainbow shades of spring.

I thought it was a masterpiece, its shell Venetian glass; I put my gift upon

display, in Easter basket grass. When no one stopped or noticed it, I gazed about

in tears; I noted how the others looked, and painted mine like theirs. But ev’ry layer

colored in just added extra weight; its overburdened, hard-boiled shell soon learned

to hibernate. One day someone gathered it and leaned in for a peep; in his haste he

scrambled it, and tossed it in a heap. Hurt, it hid, and hidden, hurt, and nursed its

deviled thoughts; broken, beaten, in despair, pain fried its yolk in knots. Gentle eyes

began a search, intent upon a quest; Hunter, restless, overlooked the paint-by-number

nests. Gentle hands with kid-glove care collected, cracks and all;  Humpty’s horses’

kingly men had no luck by his wall, but Hunter’s love was kingly glue, and whisked

the shattered shell back into its birthday state, and realigned each cell. Gentle

pressure peeled the paint, revealed its truest shade – Seeker sought and found

his prize, and put it on display. He tells me now he loves me true, though

still my cracks survive; but, incubated by his warmth,

my heart has come alive.

In the Middle of the Mud

mud

I spent years at the edge.

I paraded with my picket sign

to demonstrate my disdain for the dregs,

lobbied for others to clean up their act,

slung my share of dirt

in the hopes that none of it would come home to me.

I washed my hands of it.

But you –

you put on your rubber boots

and slogged into the middle of your mess

and made mud pies.

You got up to your elbows in it

and your laughter sang

and your eyes widened at the wonder of it all

and I dared to hope

that maybe here,

in the middle of the mud,

there might be something real.

Something that smelled of soil

and germination,

rain and sunshine woven

into a thing of beauty.

Your laughter is gone, now –

but I bought a new pair of boots

and I’m hungry.

I’m hungry for

mud pies…

Hide and Seek

hide and seek

I quit.

I don’t like this game.

I never win.

I can’t find you anywhere,

but somehow you always find me.

Even when I hide

you find a way to uncover me;

if I bury myself in busyness

or hole up on facebook,

medicate with chocolate

or embalm my memories,

there you are.

Even when I sleep, you find me,

disguised as men with guns who somehow

(despite my dreamland skill)

always know exactly where I am.

And then you leave,

 with only your salty-wet footprints

on my cheeks to mark your exit.

This hide thing

doesn’t work for me.

So

I will change the rules.

I’ll make a hot cup of tea

and sit in my prayer chair

and count to ten

slow

and

I may

just

learn to truly seek.

I will seek you in

the sigh of a child,

peals of laughter,

every act of courage,

every selfless prayer.

I will learn to love well,

listen with my heart,

speak for those with no voice,

champion the weak,

embrace my mess

and

then,

then I will

seek this God

whom you loved with abandon,

with faith that could not be broken

by accident or

miscarriage

or tumours

or physical agony

and then,

there,

(ready or not)

I will

find you…

ReMolt

skin

It wasn’t the stranger in her skin

but the skin she didn’t own;

the mirror lied to her for years

in countenance unknown.

But when she learned her truest self

was trapped beneath that skin,

she stretched her soul and slipped it off,

re-molted genuine.

Then You Walked By

march-iceHe was desert.

I, so thirsty, swallowed sand

Until I mummified.

He was iceberg.

I, so frozen, craved his warmth

Til all was numb inside.

Then You walked by –

Waterfalls and rip-tide seas

That made these cracked lips burn.

Summer Sunburst

Melted rivers, carved new clefts,

Uncovered long-dead urns.

And oh! the pain

As figments of sandcastles

Collapsed beneath my toes.

And oh! the ache

As Light revealed the chaos

I’d buried deep with snow.

You are water.

I, so thirsty, drink You in,

Til my cup overflows.

You are Sunshine.

I, so frozen, snuggle deep,

And Your arms hold me close.