My heart aches.
Then, I feel a slight, cool brush of air that combs over the fine hair on my arm.
I remember He's right there. Beside me. In the pain.
I remember because He tickles me daily.
He gave me laughter. He gave me sorrow.
Like a sandwich cookie.
He's on one side.
I'm on the other.
But in the middle is where life resides.
The shocking sweetness of the good stuff.
The grainy, lumpy, crystals pretending to be creamy good stuff when it's bad...sometimes it's very bad.
The tear makes a great escape, and then comes the tumble.
I have brush with death.
He coaxes me back to life.
The air on my arm gently spells, "Be here. Be now."
Comfort in calligraphy that brushes a heartache into a heart fully awake.
~Tangela Parker Ekhoff (9/21/11)
I wrote this after my Mom died. I have a book full of poetry. My favorite pastime is making fun of poets and writing poetry...and eating cookies.
Funny that even when I'm sad...I'm thinking about cookies. I'm actually very happy today and I'm thinking about cookies. Life has taken a turn for the good...and I'm thinking about cookies. There is not one damn cookie here in the house that I actually want to eat. But, I'm thinking about cookies. I'm going for a walk. I'll stop at the bakery on 1st street...and buy a donut. They don't have cookies.
When your Mom dies, it's like your lifeline goes. WHen your Dad dies, that final safety net goes. Sometimes we find ourselves more equipped than we expected. I am so glad for you that it was a good day.
ReplyDeleteI have cookies in the oven
Thank you so much. I'm getting over myself Growing. Learning. Getting stronger...and eating less cookies. The walking is making the cravings go away.
DeletePoetry used to sustain me from day to day when I was younger. Beautiful poem.
ReplyDeleteI love, of all things, Subway cookies. The restaurant, not the train.
I love the oatmeal raisin cookies! Subway...EAT COOKIES!
DeleteLove this post. Love the poem, and the fact that you laugh at poets. good stuff. :)
ReplyDeleteI used to work at a small publishing house, and one of the most high strung, hard to talk off the ledge writers we had was a poet . He took himself sooooooooooooooooo seriously.
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