Before I Go

Credit: www.wallallies.com

My oldest asked me to write an Easter story just as the April poetry challenge got underway. I reminded him that I did write one two years ago (Traditional Non-Traditions , a worthy read for background).  I guess he wanted a fresh take on a not-so-old tale. But in keeping with the spirit of this month, I am also inserting a poem:

                                      Before I go, can we see one more show?

                                      Before I leave, can you tell me you still believe?

                                       Before I’m gone, can we see another dawn?

                                        Before I go, can we find another road to hoe?

                                     Before I leave, can we find more mountains to achieve?

                                         Before I’m gone, will you let me ramble on?

I guess our Easter story is a kind of resurrection. It seems so long ago that our family life fell apart. For a while there, it seemed the three of us were torn asunder. Separated from each other and even our own selves. Perseverance, determination, along with letting go and the gift of time (which does heal) gave birth to a new incarnation. A strong trio-thick as thieves- settled in and grew up together. We spent time in the wilderness, pondered our fate and learned who our true friends were. Our new life enriched us, and like all good things, allowed for more treasure and more joy.

And now we are all ready for a newer, fresher start. When spring is done and summer has just begun, we’ll go on to new lives, knowing full well that yes indeed we have risen!

 

 

 

 

 

A Stella(r)Story

Credit: www.astrologyforearthrenewal.com

Stella knew for certain that she would never really miss Mick; only the idea of him. She was relieved when his piss stopped showing up on the toilet. He was once a stunner of a man in that rough around the edges sort of way. Compact and short, his presence loomed large whenever he entered a room. She liked his vehement attention at first; his passion for her was electric. Stella was stunned by his voracious appetites and his seemingly unending attention.

Stella wasn’t what you’d call a classic beauty. Kinky ashen curls decorated her cupid-like visage. Petite, with hips that swayed enough to turn heads and breasts that Mick compared to buttercups. He’d come home from work at the pit, shine himself up and lose himself inside her.

The ride was high for years.Two bountiful boys kept them on their toes and further fueled their passion for each other. And like a fast speeding car that encounters one hairpin turn too many, their affair flamed out. Mick’s craving for cards and the accompanying vices soon got the best of him and them.

The arguments and the silences that followed only got more fierce. Money got tight and then nearly nonexistent. He lost himself in the drink now; his once alluring bearing shrunken. He lurked where he once pranced. And then he seemed to just disappear.

Stella rose up. She wasn’t one to snivel nor shrink from a tough situation. Working the lunch crowd gave her a boost; her tips paid the rent and the hard work fueled her rather than leave her wasted. Months went by. The boys grew strong and steady under the tough but loving gaze of their mother. They would not mess around.Their fear of her disappointment outweighing any possible consequences brought by teenage temptations.

She had grown into her own woman. Stella-Bella all the men called her. Each one desperate in their desire for her. But she would have none of it. “Been there. Done that,” she said. Stella was sure that real love would knock on her door eventually.

And in a sheet of downpour on a windy April afternoon, he did. Soaked and battered and need of something warm, Jack slipped out of his drenched jacket and into her life.

Training Fatigue

training fatigue

Saturday morning she awakens with a sudden jolt

 It is 4 a.m.  Her calves lock with charlie horses

Her hips feel frozen, her back is in spasm

She has trouble rolling over

She lets out a groan

She needs to get to hot yoga without a doubt

Another ten-miler is in store for tomorrow

Arriving, she embraces the heat

Each inversion and twist is met at first with pain

Then release and relief

The poses feel good

But she forgoes wheel and frog

Saturday supper: pasta, water and wine

She slumbers at an early hour

Sunday morning 6 a.m.

Arising stiff but not too sore

Shall she go?

She needs the long run without a doubt

Pain simmers beneath the skin

A natural feeling for the distanced runner

Each mile is ticked off without notice

Until the last

Her legs announce themselves

in all their glorious grief

She finishes and bends over with welcome relief