The builder is building a house
Brick by beautiful brick
It seems an unusual house
Everyone agrees

But he loves his house

His ideas are big
His ambitions bigger
But they start with a little house
That he’s designed

For his love

He dreams of his wife
Who will nurture
She who cleans the house
And grows the garden and flowers

While he works on the roof

He longs for the days
they’ll spend laughing together
in their chairs
on the porch that he has built

Drinking lemonade that she has made

He spends his days building
The foundations of this dwelling
With his head full of dreams
His heart full of love

And she watches him built their home

It’s okay to love someone

And tell them no

It’s okay to love someone

And tell them they’re wrong

It’s okay to love someone

And disagree

Room, you’ve been good to me
You’ve sequestered me
You’ve kept me safe
You’ve given me a refuge
You’ve given me a space

Bed, you’ve been good to me
I’ve dreamt many dreams with you
I’ve spent restless nights here
I’ve drenched your sheets with tears
I’ve scrolled endlessly on instagram with you

Desk, you’ve been good to me
We’ve spent many an hour together
We’ve trudged through homework
We’ve enjoyed many movies
We’ve eaten many meals

Shelves, you’ve been good to me
You contain my many books
You hold stories that have shaped me
You carry the burden of all my trinkets
You stand, sturdy and useful

Room, again you’ve been good to me
Way too good to me
You’ve given me privacy, but
I’ve enjoyed your company
We’ve spent so much time together, I don’t know      
    how I’ll do without
You

She opens her eyes
She smiles and looks at the clock
Her left hand reaches out
It touches cold sheets

Her smile becomes frozen
Her hazy vision focuses
She sees the ceiling fan rotating
Round and round and round and round
The machinery never ceasing

She notices the sunbeams
Casting light into the room
She follows it’s rays
Onto the left side of the bed

The king sized bed
Sheets half made
One side warm
The other cold

Her fingers come tightly together
As she looks to her left
Her snowy hair delicately strewn

Her eyes well with tears
The silent streams blur her vision
She looks back at the ceiling fan
And blinks away the salty sadness

She lies for a moment
Watching the machine
Continue… going
Round and round and round and round

Gathering her strength
Then suddenly
She swings her legs over the side
And sits up in one fluid motion

She looks at her feet
Old and swollen

She directs her gaze upward
To the wall in front of her

A bookcase stands
Meeting a wall-bound case of trinkets
Pictures and models of memories sit
Carefully placed on the shelf

She stares at the collage of her life
Then at the blank wall behind it

She stares at the paint
It’s been there so long

She hears the whir of the fan
Going round and round and round

She feels the cold air being blown
Onto her thin, bony shoulders
She stares at the blank, white wall

She hears the clicking of her old dog
Trodding down the hall
As it comes to announce its needs

The dog comes in and sits at her feet
It looks expectantly at her
She doesn’t look at it
She looks at the wall

She stares and stares
Then looks at the clock once more
Only seven minutes have passed
But it feels like an eternity

The dog whines
And pushes its nose under her hand

She looks it in the eyes
She sees it’s pain
And she understands it

She stands to go let the dog out
Her bones creak to remind her:
She is old, and unlike the machinery in her ceiling
No oil can fix her pain
No nut and bolt can add to her purpose
No loosened screws can unload her sadness

Her pain is hers to bear
For she is an old woman
With a good life lived and loved

But now she tiredly watches time go by
Laying in bed, watching the ceiling fan spin

Waiting… dreading the day
She will no longer hear the clicking
Of her dog coming to greet her
With a wagging tail and cloudy eyes

Dreading the day that silence will reign
Except for the whir of the ceiling fan

Dreading the day she will be truly alone

People seated
Row by row
Packed in a tiny aircraft
Is this what it means to be gods?

We’ve tamed machines
And ridden them into the clouds

A woman sleeps
One man snores
Another works
Is this what it means to be majestic?

We hold all this power
Yet we sit in near silence

Anyone who came before
Would have seen this machine in the sky
And worshiped it as holy

But we reside inside
Trying to relax on rock hard cushions

We have tamed the skies and become riders of the sun
We have become warriors

Yet we sit
And snack
On little pretzels
Impatiently waiting
To be mere mortals again

Something about you was different
You said thank you, like everyone else
But our hands brushed and I got this feeling
You were truly thankful

You took the water and chocolate bar
And drank the water first off
You were actually thirsty
You took it in like it was life

Atoms
Make up cells
Cells
Make up me

I stand next to the ocean
Trillions upon trillions of atoms
Make up the water
And the things in it

----

People are so small
Minuscule figures line the shoreline
Yet people take up so much space

Millions of hopes and dreams
prayers and questions
Each person is full of these things

Each person has a name,
goals, flaws, joys, and sorrows
Each one living in the moment

I see two people walking down the beach
Hand in hand
I wonder what they’re thinking

‘She’s so beautiful’
‘His smile lights up my world’
Completely unaware of the power they hold

They both hold life,
which means they have choices
They CHOOSE to walk by the ocean

They CHOOSE to be with each other
The ocean chooses nothing
It obeys the moon and tides with total and utter compliance

I see a family
Mother and father watching their children
Skin and bones as active children are, yet so full of life

So full of the ability to CHOOSE
They choose to romp in the ocean without a care in the world
While their parents CHOOSE to love them

I choose to people watch
To watch them interact with the waves and sand
To watch these minuscule, yet amazing beings