I.
My son does not understand fear,
he is 3,
he thinks in color,
he believes in magic,
he says that our dog Smokey
controls the weather.

Watch him as he goes!
Jumping over cracks on sidewalks,
pretending to fly,
attempting to get near electric outlets
because he saw them spark once,
and fire,
fire is cool!

"Watch me Mommy!

watch me."

II.
Some days I stay in bed all day,
I tell everyone I am catching a cold,
a sinus infection,
another migraine again.

It is easier to lie than to explain,
that it is too difficult to shower,
to find an outfit, to brush my hair,
to make food,
to chew it.

Friends jokingly call me a hypochondriac,
my Mother thinks I am mellow dramatic,
My son asks me if I need my temperature checked.

It is too honest to say,
"I am fighting monsters, and they won today."
Who would believe me if I did?

We are taught since childhood
to not believe in the things
we can not see.

III.
The day we buried my Grandfather,
I wore my favorite gray dress,
I was scared to taint it
with such a sad memory,
but I was 8 months pregnant
and nothing else fit.

We threw dirt in a hole
as three strangers watched us grieve.
They stood with shovels ready to do their jobs,
ready to get home to their loved ones.  

All I could think about was how much
it aches to love anyone,
even in the good times, it aches.
Loss dances outside our window
like flames, waiting to engulf.

I vowed to protect my child
from any unnecessary pain,
I vowed to make him feel safe.

Now I fear I am the one
tainting him in gray.

IV.
Not every day is bad,
most days are nice, in fact,
some days are so good
that the bad ones seem
like distant memories.

On the good days I feel brave,
brave like my son;

I tickle his tummy and show him
which lights are stars, which are planets,
and tell him I love him, always,
no matter what.

Autumn leaves
in the color of the sun
feed the Earth

Branches bare and gaunt
decorate the sky...
life in disguise

The crow descends
and observes
humanity in winter

Spring whispers;
crocuses stir
and meet the sun

Somewhere between the here and now lies a place forever, where I stand with you in the morning sun beside a waterfall and watch the river of creation flow gently to the sea .

To take you in the water like a nymph all dressed in dew , while our sprits soar to mountain tops to fly with eagles and climb with ewes . In love is an eternity that cannot be concealed , but no matter what you say of it it’s only what you feel .

Dew beads on web tendrils
too soft to stir the spider
too unobtrusive to cause grass tips bother
Early dew
soft and silent
like tears hidden from a sleeping lover.
An exhale of morning's breath
in condensation
its swell captured
Droplets form
in the midst of dawn's sorrow
for the departed night

Butterscotch bruises are those water stains on a white ceiling.
Fighting the bleach at every dab and swab.
Days pass since the cause was fixed, but still they mar and taunt.
A few more days, then try again, then paint over regardless.  
Another of life's little irritants,
little annoyances grinding away.
Then there's the ants, don't get me started,
the temperamental heater, the obnoxious neighbour, the bills, the muscle spasm that never fully goes, the arguments, the hang nail, the rudeness of strangers, the frozen screen, the word slip, the stupid what's app messages,
the struggle to write a verse.
The list goes on and on and will long after we're gone.