I'm Free"
Such a con man convincing me that I was so beautiful, his saving grace,
With his hands, he painted my face,
With make-up I would have to retrace,
I would dress pretty just for him,
I kept my body fit and trim,
Though for real, I didn't know it was a messed up,
I tried to be his best partner, his loving wife.
Shocked and and scared every time,
like it was something new, that just began,
He'd beg my forgiveness again & again,
how I always forgave, forgetting all the prior distress,
just to continue day after day.

Pulling my hair, using your fist to paint my lips the color of crimson red, fearing each time I'd die.
It even happened when you weren't full of whiskey,
I'd have moments of reality,
knowing I had to get out for my babies,
You had everyone convinced you were innocent,
I was the one that suffered your vengeance,
like an illusion, everyone took your side,
they all believed every time you lied.

I have no more shame, no more fear,

its darker than I thought it would be now
that always seems to happen in winter
I forget what it's like
for the days to grow so short
and the nights to grow so cold
it happens every year
but I never remember

there's some kind of grace in that
our ability to forget
just how dark
the world
can be

Love you, I.
With your maddening grace
hold me tight
in a thrilling embrace.
Take my heart
(whole my being), please.
Let me drown
in your luscious kiss.

Putting things in jars
has long been a family practice
preserving the deliciousness of the season
by shelving the bounty of fall

The way the skin slips from the naked peach
is a seductive notion and cathartic connection
passed from one hand to another
packed tight in the kitchen
sticky with syrup

Heat and pressure mount a whistled release
for both windfall and sun kissed faces
Tomatoes, peaches, beans, and corn
offer rainbow promises from the storm
Even that one Columbus Day

But September 2020 we are shelving Manna
and sorting string beans for perfect presentation
and this ******, industrial chic, "man-canning"
looks back at me through the glass
and I am longing for something messy

A quiet field of snow
untouched,
unburdened -
I leap through it,
leaving large footprints
and nullifying the stillness
which had graced the field before me.
Luckily,
there is always more grace
to be found in nature;
and so I plod onwards,
my stride slow and heavy,
but joyful as it finds
and matches the tracks
of the moose and ptarmigan
who frolic through this valley.

There is, after all,
an answer to the meaning of life
and love and joy.
And it lies in the valley of snow before me
for all the world to bear witness to.

How to find my peace
When nothing fulfills me?
When the genuine severe my grave
And I am the genuine severing yours?
In all earnestness my heart recovers grace,
In solemn silence finding petulance,
Sulky, old smiles alternating.