CRAWLING OUT AND FALLING UP
( for Linda )

Her first puddle
"There's rain lying dead
in a hole!"

She's only ever
seen rain fall
not trapped in a *** hole.

"Why doesn't it
crawl out
and fall up?"

Indeed?
I see it happen
in thought if not in deed.

I have to admit
I'd never thought of it
like...that?

Now she's all
grown up and
doesn't even remember it.

We meet a modern
day puddle and
she's puzzled...when I say:

"Why doesn't it
crawl out
and fall up?"

"Oh Da...!" she sighs
"How do you ever
think of such...things?"

*

Henri Nouwen once said:

"Our humanity comes to its fullest bloom in giving.
We become beautiful people when we give whatever we can give: a smile, a handshake, a kiss, an embrace, a word of love, a present, a part of our life...all of our life."

Or a way of seeing her world as only she could and letting you enter into her state of mind so that a mere puddle became a wondrous thing to behold....my child was always teaching me ways to see and to treat the world seriously as the sacred thing it is.

She had love for everyone and everything....I did my best to learn from her....she was my mentor.

when I asked you whether I should go turn out the lights

You said “no. why?”

and for a fraction of a second I could see myself through your eyes

and I never felt the need to ask again

If only the films could capture
the imperfections of love:
like 3am arguments that mean nothing but a need to be heard.
When heads **** and clothes become struggles in the throes of passion.
the imperfections of the way you love yourself, but they love you anyways.
If only they could capture shuffles up stairs between moans and kisses.
and just capture the boundless love when love is imperfect.
If only.

It was in the way you looked at me
across the room
like it would only take a second
for this busy room
to stop
and have those clothes drop
with no complaints from me

I’ve stopped looking at you in wonder
not because you aren’t wondrous
but because I no longer see us as too good to be true
I don’t know when it happened
Or how
But I know while you rest this afternoon with hands on my limbs
I can feel the dust settling on a midsummer dream
and while the dream remains light, wondrous and new
The home I made with you
Was built slowly through slow dances and arguments and patience
Built by long conversations and silent smiles
Home with you
isn’t wondrous, it’s a cup of tea after a long day
Home with you is a choice
and I chose you

the connotation wrapped around the word
constantly squeezing before comforting
It just always suffocated for me
Because for every cemented idea and every concrete plan that was built up around me I felt I had been forced to settle.
To settle into others plans, hopes, goals, and desires. I felt forced to settle into an imaginary ring.

I never thought I could choose to settle. Till I chose to settle into your arms. I chose to settle into the late night conversations where eyes flicked as children were whispered. I chose to settle within the open plains that wrapped the distance of your heart to mine. I chose to settle into laughter with you. I chose to settle for my happiness that grew every single time you expanded room for me.

I chose to settle. instead of being settled.

I chose to settle, settle around you.