Curator of My Space

I am the curator of my hidden space.The revelations come as a trickle, a wink —a river of stars while I dream.Ideas are heldin the secrecy of growth,near the fruit of the womb,under the cloak of becoming. While I carry hiddenness,I no longer hide me.I’ve taken off the gray cloak of doom.Vibrancy is my outfit of choice.Even as I glow —My antennae explore the room for discernment.What is necessary to share, to refrain from speaking?With this inquiry,I become the curator of my open space. Sensitivity to myself and others is a gift I hold.I do my best to meet others…

The Sacred Third

Somewhere between day and night,where fireflies shine — in the middle space ofright and wrongwhere dog wags his tail — peeking through the black and white,where zebra emerges — on the city streets betweengood and bad,where mosquitoes only smell blood — in the wrestle match of yes and nowhere cats have no care — at the family feud ofgirl and boy,where male seahorses give birth — in the fist grip of interior and exterior,where turtles move with ease — is a thin placeof the Sacred Thirdwaiting to receive — “Hello.Welcome You!Come sit with me for a while.Will you?There’s no rush.Let’s…

Seconds Before Hallelujah

Hard days of grief press,pain not forgotten My Easter dress hangs limp in the closet. Messy hair, void of make-up, weary with remembrance Sleepy, I make my way into the kitchen. The tomb search begins,traces of light the intent I look for the rainbow everywhere. Gather remnants of colorto disguise the despair This is my urgent offering of love. Earth quakes a low moan,eyes well with tears (again) I never envisioned a scenario quite like this. Seconds are hours,heartbeat on high alert Death sensed in-between the robin’s song. Even as rose petals fan open, fear penetrates All I’ve believed seems…