The History of One Life

 

Linking with Shay's Word Garden Word List -- The Prodigy

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Through many windows life looks out...
Through windows rosy with young dreams
      And windows grey with pain:
Through windows bright with hope's gay light
      And windows dripping rain...
~George Elliston

I often think of the history of one life, not from a text book but one that may have been a grandmother to the second cousin of the lady I just passed in the cereal aisle. What was her story? What came of her first love? Did she die of a broken heart or natural causes, or is that the same thing? A million questions flood over me like when it rained last April. Does anyone still speak her name? Will she be remembered? 

Sometimes I think that is the most tragic part of it all; the thought of being forgotten!

Everything reminds me of all the numbered midnights with my lost loves.

For life is surely a legend but death is truly famous and not just on Sundays!

So, I write love letters to the world with ink not on my hands but my heart,

saying, remember me!

 The little girl, the rain storm, and the old poet.

And each are the threading on the edges of my cotton cloth,

the one my mother was sewing long before I knew the colors I myself would choose to wear.

After years of dishes, problems that linger like fat thighs, and seeing more than I ever expected,

I find I view souls like books, enormous books with fine print and chapters that cannot be counted.

The world is a library of beautiful and tragic stories.

It just makes me sad to think that some were never even opened and read at all.

Fire, Landslides, & Bears

 

Linking with Shay's Word Garden Word List --The Return of Ellie Black

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“But to fear is one thing. To let fear grab you by the tail and swing you around is another.”

 ~Katherine Paterson

Seven days I worried long and seven days the wheel stayed true

my mind flipped and reeled down gravel roads

but knees and elbows stayed clear of any wounds

my eyes see a danger that this world says is just not there

my heart wants so bad to believe it

but my mind remembers fires landslides and bears

vulnerable and uncertainty are like papercuts with alcohol upon my hands

and I can’t forget the sting or the dash in all my plans

the plane flies too high and the ocean spans too deep

this life is full of risks and near misses

and its earthly gift is not one we get to keep

for seven days I worried long and seven days the baby never cried

maybe one day I will learn to see through faith’s maroon glasses

and take the bandana of fear off my nervous eyes!

I Will Never Forget Her

 

Linking with Shay's Word Garden Word List -- The Last To Go

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Beauty has no boundaries, no rules, no colors. Beauty is like a religion. You can include everything inside it. ~  Alessandro Michele  

My grandparents had a colored maid, at least that was the expression my Grandpaw used.  At the time, I thought she was older but I realize now, I was wrong. I am certain she was an old soul though.  She came twice a week to do what my Grandmaw couldn’t. She had a down to earth way about her, and had 7 kids, a husband that wouldn’t work, and no car.  She would take the bus and walk from the corner stop.  She had her own small closet in the dinette area, changed her shoes and put on an apron with pockets and began the many chores expected of her. All the while, she would hum and she always sang like there wasn’t a care in the world.  Her name was Miss Jesse, and she was beautiful in every way.  I once asked her why she was black and her face lighted up like a soft lamp as she said, “child, God made some of us black and some of us white".

I will never forget her.

There was more than one layer she wore of the truest beauty.

Each flowed around her like scarves in storm’s way.

And she carried them all close enough

but also gave them as ribboned gifts

to her children and to their children’s children.

Diamonds that sparkle and coals that warm like seasons within her eyes

except winter,

that she saved for just one man.

That bitter cold is why she learned to be tough!

Something she never wanted or planned on

but hunger drives us to climb, hunt, and borrow.

So, she became a totem of strength;

tall with a certain might that only the bearers of true burdens know.

Callused hands from scrubbing

 and a heavy heart from deeper worries,

yet she chose to love like a mother to the whole world

with a voice that was always lovely.

Her boys were her deepest of prayers

 and they were her inkwell of something more

upon a page like a scripture.

She memorized and sang them all by name

until they were as known to Heaven as the most worn page in a hymnal.

What If?

 

 Art by Oleg Shuplyak  a Ukrainian artist,

Linking with Shay's Word Garden Word List -- Hapax

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What If?

Life is like sailing. You can use any wind to go in any direction. ~Robert Brault

 

What if something was done differently and could have changed everything?

Something was given instead of taken away,

like planting many trees instead of zero!

I have seen the sway the wind makes

and how it can change the direction of everything,

like a kite in March and which way a child runs.

Every movement has a certain force that pushes at the passersby.

Each loving mother tends to have a kinder child,

and every hateful father leaves a brokenness

 that can pass through generations like a torch from hand to hand.

So, open your heart and let all that tears down scatter and be gone, like tissues at a funeral.

Only wave the flags that stand for love and life.

Rock the cradle gently, and teach your sons to plant chrysanthemums and not just build with bricks.

For what if something was done differently and could have changed everything?

Wise words were a gift instead of words of idiocy stealing what could have been.

Life is a Squiggle

 

Vee Speers

Untitled #1, Dystopia, 2017

Linking with the Word List at Shay's Word Garden.

Words from Tomb Sweeper by Alexandra Chang

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“Being is not yesterday,

not tomorrow, but today,

which is the fruit of all past,

the seed and soil of future.”

~Cave Outlaw

Time, Love, and Hope traveled together to speak at a funeral.

Each had a message to share, with different photos of the departed and personal thoughts on the journey.

Time was quite busy and the details and remembrance would probably be reenacted by Love.

Hope was noodles about this because Love had been a major crush for Hope,

ever since they were arrested for standing together against Hate.

So, Love had a lot to carry on the way; bags of every category and brand, full with all that mattered and nothing fake.

Hope always walked in front, keeping a slight distance from Time since Time would stop for no one!

Love never worried about this distance thing, for Love had a deep instinctual sense that was a true gift. Time and Hope saw it as a true superpower on the entire journey!

The eulogy would be shared by them all, but Time would ultimately write it.

Strangely enough the memory of the years this soul had truly lived would write itself. Time would simply speak for itself and sign with a squiggle to prove that each moment is but a lovely curve and loop and quick end. 

The Beauty in Scars

 

"scars" Digital art by Beth Conklin

Visit her etsy store & click HERE

The poem below is a response to my favorite prompt that is now back for all poets to enjoy:

Shay's Word Garden Word List!

I am quite late participating but please join in & there will be a new list tomorrow!

(Use at least 3 of the 20 words)

The Beauty in Scars,

"I show my scars so that others know they can heal" - Rhachelle Nicol

There is an art in healing,

letting the willow bend

to no longer break.

My soul does not crave the vase of lilies,

but longs to run in a field of wildflowers.

Yes, I want the sweetness of triumph,

but first I must taste the sober truth

that only a poet or pastor can tell

I can no longer be still like zeroes,

letting weeds grow and surround my aching knees!

Give me engines that propel me forward;

the strength to rise like a fox stepping on hill upon hill.

For there is an art in healing,

letting out all the stitches to embrace every scar.

The Details

 

Down in their hearts wise men know this truth: the only way to help yourself is to help others. ~Elbert Hubbard 

When we are planning anything in life, we are thinking of the destination and goals that we want to achieve, but it is truly the little things in place that get us there. A girl has to pack her socks if she wants to be ready to wear her shoes for the mountain climb. All the big plans we hope for are full of smaller details that cannot be forgotten. 

All those pesky little things, life is full of them! To do lists, errands, dry-cleaning, doctor appointments and the list goes on! So many of the seemingly mundane tasks occupy our day and fill our baggage, but in our life, there are many other details that have more significance in the big scheme of things.  

When I first applied for a job in the Harris County Library system, I tried to think of what skills I had that made me an asset to be considered for hire. I had a cleaning business for over 20 years, and I knew that one of the main attributes a house cleaner must have is an attention to detail. Seeing the cobwebs and stains on the countertop requires a closer look from possibly another angle. I knew that I wanted to point that out in my interview or on my application, but when I actually started working at the library helping customers, I realized there was another element to the concept, “attention to detail”. 

It isn’t just about seeing when a book is out of place on a shelf or knowing how to properly send a document to print for a customer, it is actually much more personal than that. When it comes to customer service, sometimes the needs that come up are much less technical, and much more intimate in nature.  I am talking about emotional needs that sometimes arise that we need to be aware of in the usual situations of helping customers.  

People come into the library for many reasons, and sometimes it is simply to get the next great book on their list, but other times it could be stressful in nature, like getting information for medical help for a terminally ill loved one.  That being said, we may never know the details of what they are facing, but we can be attentive and mindful when someone seems to be frustrated or having a bad day. I have had several instances where it was obvious that someone needed some extra help and support to get what they were doing accomplished, and sometimes that included being a listening and caring ear in the process.  

The details are more than orderly shelves, the correct copies, and requesting that hard-to-find book.  Sometimes the truest details are in the very people we are trying to help. Taking the time to notice the sadness behind a smile or reading the body language of dismay from a difficult day and responding accordingly can make all the difference for that person in need of a few copies at their local library.  

 Yes, life is full of small details that are part of the bigger goal each one of us is trying to attain. May we all try our best to remember the details that matter most.  

 

© Carrie Van Horn 2023

Unspoken Words to the Dying,

 

There are some griefs so loud
They could bring down the sky,
And there are griefs so still
None knows how deep they lie,
Endured, never expended.
~May Sarton, "Of Grief," A Durable Fire, 1972

 

 

When my father was diagnosed with stage 3 lung cancer, my stepmom could not bear for him to be told.  I am not entirely sure how he was in the dark of it all, but we continued with the façade that there was hope, and hence words that needed to be spoken that would have been obvious of what was happening were never said.

 One day on morphine and nearer to passing, my dad was hallucinating as only a very logical engineer could have done.  He would very matter of factly ask me, “do you hear that music?”  or “Do you see that car moving in the painting?”  When I answered with a bewildered no, he remained silent and unfazed.  I cannot help but think that music is something that crosses the border of here and heaven.  He was hearing the echoes of where he was headed.  Some sounds preach truth no matter what secrets may be kept. That is my thoughts on it and like the hope for miracles, that is what I choose to hold on to. 

 

I kept words folded and starched in an innermost closet like formal attire for a place I would never be able to go.

 You see, one cannot dance at the reception hall if the building has been burned to the ground.

Yet, still I dance alone with a grace that loneliness carries.

Swaying with words that know how to move in my company but never step out of that room.

It sounds absurd to someone else, but I know where they stand and why.

And I listen because I need to.

For I must remember, and I shall!

I smoke them like a joint.

Holding my breath hard as I wait for something more.

But there was a time that I was the voice that carried high, like a song reaching for broader skies.

Now my heart is a nightbird; still and quiet in the daylight.

You say I look brave and sure like a train to the city, but don’t be fooled my dear!

I am thoughts unspoken and dubious.

The regret of a thousand backward falls.

I am an old frayed ribbon from the gift of memory of long long ago.

Just one hard pull and I could break.

Linking with Shay's Word Garden (Janis Ian is the featured poet and singer/songwriter)

& the Sunday Muse for Muse #244

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Scarf Upon a Fence Post

 

Photography by Elspeth Diederix

But we loved with a love that was more than love... ~Edgar Allan Poe

If a heart could swirl like a scarf upon a fence post, mine would choose to do that with you.

 A dance of what is and could be.

 The wonder of discovery.

 The kind that new lovers hold, and dreamers think on and want to know.

The yearning that lonely hearts don’t speak of

 is as vast as ocean waves,

yet as quiet as a soft sigh can roll off parted lips.

The feeling I speak of feels like the most sacred of prayers.

Hands stretched out in adoration.

A reaching out and inward the way lovers’ hands will do.

For if a heart could swirl like a scarf upon a fence post,

 mine would choose to do all of that with you.

Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse #243

Love Is Always Willing to Carry You Home,

 

There is no timetable for grieving —
      Grief is a snail
      It's a shooting star
      A walk around the lake
      It's eternity
      Or frost 'til bloom —
Memories coursing through the heart
It lasts as many heartbeats as it takes;
      sometimes all of them.
~Terri Guillemets

 

My feet are heavy with the weight of places my heart could not leave.

For it is a slow journey when loss comes along.

Memories stay with us like a canary in a cage.

Chirping and swinging on the same old perch.

Like the hardest of goodbyes, they never truly leave.

They remain right at the hip like a child whispering in our ear,

I am hungry.

Waiting rooms can still be sat in, and last words heard just as clear.

I want to hold each one tenderly.

Remember every smile.

Hear every mundane sentence than I once took for granted.

So, I let them stay up late and carry each and every one no matter how far.

You see, love is always willing to carry you all the way home.

So, I shall do just that.

Until we meet again.

Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse #223

Deaf Girl in a Powerful Song

 

Khatia Buniatishvili at Piano

I found another world in my deep pockets.

I reached in my hand for my keys, and I pulled out a distant dream.

I was no longer the person I remembered.

I was a deaf girl in a powerful song.

I could feel and see the sounds like colors.

When I tossed my arms into the air the pinks and blues wisped up with me like scarves in the wind.

The more I kept in motion the more it was like a dance.

Time seemed to be frozen and moving soft and slow,

 for that moment was all there was to know.

I twirled and raised my hands

I no longer needed the words.

The rumbles of the beat were all I needed to hold,

but all who sleep soundly eventually do wake up.

Sometimes dreams are for sleeping and others are for living.

Now I blindly search for words to write to a song I have never heard.

***********************************

🎶Note:

I really struggled writing this week. Not sure why I am having such a dreadful dry spell, but the last few months have been brutal that way.  On a positive note, I am delighted we had such a wonderful response this week to the theme. Thank you everyone!

Have a great week writers!

Linking with the Sunday Muse for Muse #222

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