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…

I Am Woman

crystals

I am Woman.

I shouldn’t need to roar

to be heard. My

‘no’

shouldn’t

require legislation,

nor my value

be

equated with

my measurements.

My safety should not depend

on what I chose to wear, or where I

choose to walk, but on the simple fact that

I am

woman.

Grip of Gold

foggy-grasses

Golden are her tawny tresses,

Golden are her thoughts of late;

Gold her dreams of greener dresses –

Dipped in gold, her dreams await

Days of golden-sunshined splendour,

Tucked neath golden afternoons;

Patient, she will guard her golden

Songs as hope sings gilded tunes.

Seen and Heard

catherine-woodbury2

I see you, girl with the anxious eyes.

I notice all your secret sighs;

You cannot hide yourself; I see

The pain you hide from all but Me.

I hear you, girl with the silent words.

You think your prayers rise up unheard;

Your laughter masks your heart’s true song;

I sing it out from dusk to dawn.

I know you, girl with the secret soul.

I feel your longing to be whole;

Designed for beauty from the start,

I know your every cell by heart.

I love you, girl who feels no love,

Whose spirit cries she’s not enough;

So, since on earth you were not free,

I brought you home to live with Me.

In memory of Kristy

Let It Fall

bare

Lay them down, let them slip

From bone-white anxious fingertips –

These pseudo-hues, these not-true-yous,

The ways in which you daily choose

To dress your soul in binary,

Faux your skin in finery;

When fiction’s tarnish falls away,

When forgery is let decay,

Your backbone rises plumb-line strong,

Authentic in its truest song.

So let it fall, remove that shell –

You’re beautiful au naturel.