Red

 

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I thought that the colour for menopause was pink
an anemic form of red
speaking only of femininity and romance
basking in what it is and
what it not quite is
I thought this was logical
seeing as it followed after the deep purple
of heightened sex
and the blazing orange
of hot flashes and fiery
storms of emotions leading to
radical
life-changing decisions

But it’s not pink
after all

It’s red
deep and spicy and smouldering
what is released after the supernova of the ovaries
not an ending but
an accumulation of all of the lessons
and colours
now incorporated and
burned into the fabric of being
flaming still

Red

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Appreciating Silver

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silver has dulled to grey
mixed with smears of the earth
still sleeping
while I wait for colours to wake
with every flowering shade
to enliven my sensory-deprived mind
yet all too soon it will over-stimulate
with shimmering waves of heat
thus renewing my longing for silver
to cool and soothe and captivate
before a settled restlessness
returns to agitate my bones

Convergence of Seasons

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On an unusual January morning
I grab my bright pink running shoes
along with a decidedly somber umbrella
and head out into the drizzle and the rain
the wakefulness infused in what feels like spring
rushes into my veins
working in tangent
with the fantasies held in winter sleep
still unfolding in my mind
I walk in that place
where dreams and reality swirl together
over sidewalks laced with autumn leaves
and Christmas tree pine needles
I watch fog rolling over fields of
snow and green grass
ghostlike
and alive
the fog winding its way through woods
still clinging tenaciously to last year’s leaves
all while my skin is tingling like it does
right before an electrical storm
when the air is restless with magic
and I wonder
I wonder
if the plants and seeds lying dormant in the frozen ground
are gifted with a flash of awareness
of all that they might become in the lushness of summer
on unusual January mornings
such as this

With His Incarnation

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In that place
outside the bounds of Time
where the expanse of God rests
and
imagines
will we meet with Jesus
and will He extend an invitation
to know Him better
by entering a Portal to the Past
and journeying with Him
throughout His earthly life?

Will we be with Him
right after the Holy Spirit has made Love
to the singular Virgin
floating with Him
in that sacred tabernacle of flesh?

Will we witness His birth
among a weary teenage couple
so far from everything they knew
and with animals and
angels
singing a song that reverberates
throughout all of history?

His first breath
His first step
A raindrop on His skin
Healing the wings of an injured bird
hidden from the eyes of His friends
His laughter
His tears
Words flowing in poetry
With the physical touch of One who has lived
fully

And when He pours out His Blood
will He allow us to comfort Him
like He does with Veronica
as she removes her veil
and steps right into His pain
unguarded?

Do you think that our hearts will be motivated
to kiss His cheek
in that moment when a terrible searing
sinks Him outside of Time
and then when He leaps back in
bathed in the power of Light?

To see what He sees
To feel what He feels
How He experiences
the taste of honey on His tongue
To be in union with our Beloved’s natural life
so that we can more intimately join with Him
in the realms of His supernatural existence

The Light of Her Presence

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She is a star appearing
in the deepest midnight sky
dancing playfully
as she sees fit
casting random flashes of colour
out into your universe

She is sunlight sparkling
on moving summer water
dazzling your eyes
as she eludes consistency
side-stepping definition
while speaking to you
of riches that are all around
if only you would see

She is moonlight reflected
off crystallized snow
blankets of diamonds stretched out across
an ocean of mystery
inviting you to leave your comfort zone
and to step out
into a wonderland
of wildly animated
epic adventures

Love Linked

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straight, solid, intentional
an insertion
caressed and wrapped in softness
a tug, slip, release
and a new stitch is born
a link connecting all those engaging in this craft
in the present
merged with a sensation of stretching
deep into the past
the artist allows her external world to soften
as she nestles within her own thoughts
holding family, friends, strangers in need of compassion
within her heart
recipients of the soothing motions of her hands
and so her gifts extend outwards
to warm the bodies and souls of others
love multiplying and advancing
casting a tender and colour-rich future

Unexpected Winter Longings

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I cannot believe that I am admitting this to you
me who saturates herself in colours like I would wither without them
me who weeps when the birds flee to more hospitable climates
my heart breaking for the loss of their songs
but I long for winter
I long for winter like one who is pressed and overstimulated and weary longs
to indulge in rest without obligations or guilt
I long for it like sunburned skin longs for a fan blowing
across a bowl of frozen water

oh to open a frosted window
and draw frigid air deep into my lungs
to calm the hot flashes from within

to nestle underneath the worn comforter that I have made
rows upon rows of single crochet
like layers upon layers of blanketed snow
sleepy
while I sink into literary fiction

to sit at the table with my husband
right against the patio doors
immersed in the adventures of mythical board games
protected and cozy
while a storm rages on the other side of the glass
the sharp tinkling sound
of ice pellets hurtling against windows

and to wander through our home during the night
our rooms lit almost like daytime
moonlight and streetlights reflected on snow reflected on clouds
peering outside to watch bunnies
taking refuge in our skeletal raspberry canes
a landscape of winter magic made visible

this is what I long for
to be cooled
to slow things down
to dream alongside my husband and nature
and to admire the designs
of a stark and silvery wonderland

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