Take me to the gentle place

I nestle, under white creamy down

In the forest there is not a sound

white continues to fall, against my skin,

In wooded wonder, it is still winter.

Oh peonies under tarped and bagged clothing

I am praying for the morning

when your wonder and my wishes will rise

from the wicked winter cold.

You and I

take me to a gentle place


So This is Christmas

It’s brown this year and I want to feel something

What I feel this year is a coat around my soul, muffling my joy.

I remember you here before, with your fancy dishes and your red nails

I remember you here before, with your laughter and your sweater smelling of smoke

I remember the child I longed for opening a present and his eyes danced

I remember the dream of one day being a family, so that this hole in my heart would find home

I remember thinking next year would be better

and the turkey was moist and tender

I remember the pile of money in the bag

and the homeless ones


I remember my never ending desire to do something great for God on Christmas morning, so we put on a Santa Hat and delivered goodies and sat with tears, and held some hands and said some prayers. In my pink sweater on Christmas morning

So this is Christmas

I awaken with some sort of cloud hanging over me, grey as the morning sky, brown as the grass. Some of my beloved’s are still here and I must cling to that. I must cling to what remains and not what has gone. I must know that those who have left us are hanging with the reason we celebrate Christmas down here. Probably dancing with the “Great I AM.” I must get a grip, I must get a handle…yank the poor me syndrome out and fling it over the mountains edge, where one of them lays, beneath a grave marked “Beloved.”

So this is Christmas

I will put on the turkey and step under the mistletoe and ask for a kiss.

I will hug the ones left

Shed a tear for those gone

And wait for the Silent Night to heal another inch of my soul.