You love me, or you say so; that’s a crock.
If this is love, then love’s been oversold,
alone together in a bed gone cold
and all we do for heat is talk talk talk,
Our love is deep and constant as the sea,
yet fresh as mountain air in early spring
and free as meadowlarks who, taking wing,
come home to find their rest in nest and tree.
If I had words to wrap around
those mommy days and mother years,
I’d hold them in my hands and say
that nothing ever disappears.
Bare branches,
gnarled, athritic fingers,
reaching, groping,
which way out?
The hummingbird outside my window flies
to drink of bougainvillea wine each day,
enticed by rich, magenta-colored prey
to claim the sweetest nectar as her prize.
Our feet propel us swiftly through
this earthly promenade.
These words suspend the race: “Be still,
and know that I am God.”
©2003 Susan Noyes Anderson, His Children, Vantage Point Press
The world is flying by, and we?
As fast as wind, as free as air.
Our destination? We don’t know.
We’re much too busy getting there!
how did I get to be
me here today
on purpose
or did it just