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The Puzzle of Me

fullsizeoutput_338aI was high on a horse, on top of the world

My dog was behind me, the ground beneath me twirled.

My soul was singing, everything in its place

But then a vine grabbed me, ripped up my face.

 

Next thing I knew my head hit the ground

Wondering what just happened, this time around.

Would the baby inside me live through this day

Or had I destroyed her and me both, in my usual way?

 

I got on my feet, looked for my horse, in vain;

And that mistake changed me, I learned from the pain

I swore if she lived I would try something new

She lived and I changed; she was born and she flew.

 

I still went down the wrong roads, searching for more

Pricked that old cactus til my body was sore

I continued to fall, got back on my feet

But It took blows to the head, to let me know I was beat

 

Today I smile as I picture my girl and my boy.

I look back on my failures, my pain and my joy

Then I look forward, trying to see

Where life’s lessons fit, In the puzzle of me

 

Not the puzzle filled with black squares

Of sorrow and shame

But the one of the woman

who bears my name

 

The falls might be many

The scars I may wear

I now notice new color

In my long, thick hair

 

My load may be heavy

My days might be rife

But no one else’s patina

Has the sheen of mylife

 

It takes what it takes

As my wise friend said

And I know from experience

I have a very hard head

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Framed

I wrote this poem 3 years ago: grief, revisited:

 

I love to look at pictures.

When I visit people’s homes,

More than small talk I enjoy wandering,

Looking at the pictures, in their pretty frames.

 

You can tell so much from peoples’ pictures.

Perfectly posed? Nothing but smiles?

Hiding something.

Two people, heads together, smiling,  while their bodies push apart?

This will not last.

Nothing but old black and whites,

Romantic memories of bygone eras?

Avoiding something.

 

I like to listen while I look,

to hear the story that’s being told by the pictures in their frames.

What story do my pictures tell?

I hope they tell a story of moments.

 

The moment when

my daughter met her new baby brother for the first time.

The moment when

my toddler son basked in the belief of my perfection.

 

I’ve tried to frame these moments,

display them for all to share.

But there’s one moment I’ve framed, but never shared.

 

The moment when

My 23-week old son was born, but never took a breath.

 

Thirteen years ago today

After laboring the better part of a day

I saw my little boy for the first and last time.

 

This moment has been framed in my mind for years.

Framed with grief and anger.

How many things were visibly wrong

How his outward deformities symbolized my inner ones.

 

This year, I notice the frame is changing.

Now, when I look at this moment, I see other things too.

Yes, I see the deformities, but today

I also see a little soul, pure and beautiful.

Yes, I see sorrow, but today

I also see joy, joy for the boy and man he would have become.

 

The frame, which was one-dimensional and black

Now shows some facets and sparkle,

Like a diamond in the rough.

Today I know the frame isn’t finished

And I’m curious about what it will become.

 

I’ve always thought the black-framed moment

was never meant to be shared.

But today’s multi-dimensional, sparkly frame

Demanded to be shared.

 

And so it is.