User Posts : Bakersfield.com

Sam

Your death was unexpected; it came before I could brace myself.

I brushed my hand across your eyes as Mercy took your last breath. A bit of moisture clung beneath your nose.

We dug a hole at the base of the blue blossomed tree and marked it with a large stone.

I held a flower picked from my garden to give to you as a symbol of our friendship.

A flower to keep you company and soothe my sad heart.

Each day I searched the garden for it's finest flower to replace the spent blossom on your stone.

Then one day, other duties kept me from my garden and it was dark before I remembered the flower.

The next day I put two of the nicest flowers I could find on the stone.

The discarded flowers were creating a soft bed beneath the blue blossomed tree.

Yesterday I forgot the flower again, so this morning I hurried outside in the faint light to look for a rose.

But the sun has taken the beauty from my garden and all the flowers are small and faded.

I couldn't find one worthy of you.

Then I saw a brightness, a hint of color in the cool shade of the blue blossomed tree where you lie.

A columbine. You have grown a flower for me.

*note This was written for my beautiful, gentle Siamese cat, Sammy. It represents all of the wonderful animals I have loved over the years.

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A small dark curl frames her pointed chin.

Her bowed head suggests a reticence born of want,

yet the steady upward cast of her eyes tell a different story.

Her lips form a half smile, rehearsed for just these moments.

And, so sure is she of her beauty, that it's lack is lost on the viewer.

Her smile widens when the advantage is within her grasp.

Voices From Shafter Memorial

The second tree from the end is where I always sit,

Brushing my hand across the grass as I talk to my relatives.

Aunt Lois with her ancient mink coat. She and the pelts

sharing the same fate, the same dust.

Quack, squatting in the dirt beneath a red bud tree,

Sure that Eisenhower had "forgotten the little man".

Ma Ma married in overalls. Buried in her granddaughter's

dress after a lifetime of work.

Pete his face folding into a wrinkled smile. Leaving his

handiwork in a trail of temporary homes.

Ted, troubled war hero, insisting on Nam rules. Triumphantly

tossing in his winning hand, one card at a time.

J.C., his early confidence and wry humor stripped away by

disease until all that remained was bitterness and sad resignation.

Sherry, petite, precise. Her beautiful hands in constant motion,

sculpting the world for others to enjoy.

Steve, born in poverty, living in want. His worldly wealth disclosed by the

requiem crowd which would found no fault in him.

Am I happy?

I say I am

when the subject is raised.

I think I am

but don't probe too deep.

I pretend I am

to forestall questions

I hope I am

because that's all there is.

3 a.m. coffee

Yep! It's great.

In bed at sunset

and awake at one.

Plenty of time to

make a pot of coffee

and second guess my life.

An Everyday Woman's Guide to Love

Love is you

Carrying the dead mouse outside

Love is you

Buying me size 7 underware

Love is you

Cleaning the shower trap of hair

Love is you

Asking for seconds of my burned casserole

Love is you

Cracking me up with corny jokes

Love is you

Putting gas in my car

Love is you

Lifting the heavy side of the load

Love is you

Loving me

Love unexplained

Love is not passion

Passion is its child.

Love is not commitment

Commitment is its father.

Love is your essence and mine

Filling an empty glass.

Love is your fingers on mine

Counting the pulse of time.

Love can't inflect creation

Since it has no shape or form.

In the last fluttering moments of time

Love is the last to fade.