I wrote two poems to read at the birthday party of a friend. I went and after a couple of hours, realized that part of the party wasn't going to happen. But, I was so proud of myself, standing there, ready to read, poems in my pocket. I went. I did not stay away in fear.
So here they are. I hope you enjoy them.
Winter,
a time to let
what is on the outside die
and allow what is inside to live.
We rouge it, and douche it,
and color it healthy, young,
sexy, and green.
Plotting to defy death;
we stick it and pull it
and suck it, and inject it.
Yet, we are always there,
waiting to be born.
A kaleidoscope of possibilities,
a dalliance with fate.
One you.
A discovery come spring.
"Born" - Nov. 10, 2010 Sheela Wolford
Our children see us at our worst.
They see us spewing, chewing,
and gagging on facts, regrets,
and disappointments.
They see us with uncombed hair,
prostrate on the couch,
looking at nothing, but the Boob Tube.
"Bye, Mom! I'll be back," they say.
And we rise to hug them, see them
out the door.
Our children see us at our best.
The brush through the hair,
dilapidated shoes, removed for new.
"Bye, baby! I'll be back," we say.
And they rise to hug us,
seeing us out the door.
Our children see us.
They see our entirety.
Glory and gush,
ash and soot.
Swallowing and getting on with it.
They see us growing up.
"Entirety" - November 11, 2010 Sheela Wolford
2 comments:
Love these poems! Link your linkedin to this blog or is it linked already?
Thank you so much, Anna! It is linked in. Thank you for ALL your comments. I love your routine. I keep remembering John Lennon's quote that when his pockets were stuffed full with handwritten notes, he knew he was ready to write his book. I do a lot of thinking and writing on the train, reading, too. But, def need to step it up and not let those lids close. :)
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