In the winter of
My darkest sadness
A candle glows,
Tiny and so far away.
It gives the darkness
A focal point and I
Struggle my way towards it.

Another candle lights my way.
I don’t know where it came from
But it makes a fearful journey
So much easier to manage,
And I eventually will dance
On thistledown to
The music of the Skylarks
In a sun-filled, cloudless sky.
  ljm

I am a mother without a child
Who comes to me for comfort.
I am a mother with a child
Who walked away from loving care
And chose to be a distant friend
Instead of a loving daughter

I am a mother with only one
Who really wanted to have two,
And wouldn’t have been sad at three.
But never won the right to choose
And had to make the best of what
Was offered as my portion.

Fifty years have come and gone
Plus two more for good measure.
The gap has narrowed not a whit
And my path still skirts the chasm.
I reach with practiced carefulness
To read the card that is my lot
As a mother with no daughter.
ljm

Hoping for a symphony
Expecting just a penny whistle.
Praying for a miracle
Getting a vague promise.
Looking for the Hollyhocks
Finding wilted daisies.

Offering a helping hand
Finding no one needs one.
Asking for a helping hand
No one reaches out to me.
Giving one last urgent try
I write my number on the wall.

And hunker down behind a hedge
To see if anybody reads it.
Or if they only walk on by
Pursuing other goals and visions
That have no bearing on my needs
And leave me here with hands outreaching.
ljm

I’m in a contest I can’t win
Or even come in second.
My bird has flown from the streetlight arm
And taken promise with it.

Another lands and then departs
To mock my hopeful prayers
The sky teems with symbolic fowl
But I can’t suss their meaning.

A big one flew straight over me
But I can’t read its message.
Was it promising good health
Or telling me it’s sorry

That I’ll only get just what I have
To get me through tomorrow
And if I am not strong enough
The game will then be over.

Why are birds the messengers
In answer to my pleas
They send me signals I can’t read
And I walk on in darkness.
ljm

It seems as though I live my life
Downstage right and closest to the footlights.
I need the warmth of those glowing bulbs
To thaw a sometimes frozen heart.

I’ve learned my lines and know the scenes
But the blocking still confuses me
And I’m not sure which way I turn
To delver my soliloquy.

I know this drama has four acts
But this is intermission
And I’m waiting for the lights to dim
And call the audience back inside
To watch until the final curtain.
     ljm

There is no need to shout at us-
If your words paint a picture we will see it.
We can squint and peer through lowered lids
And find the image in a myriad of dots.

It is not necessary that you push us-
We will follow if you gently lead, and find the storm
As fierce and moving as you think you need
To act out with your thunder voice and flailing arms.

Inflection works a well as histrionics,
And a subtle tone allows us space to build
The structures that your words describe.
There is no need to hammer us.

Singsong forces us to wade into the stream
And wield our nets of understanding endlessly
In hopes of capturing like silvered fish
The thoughts we’d rather cast for from the shore.

Just stand and calmly pull away
The drapes that hide the cake you wish to share.
In simple words divide it up
And we will eat it and be filled.
                      ljm