Rest Is In My Breath

One of my favourite things is the scent of fresh laundered sheets with a hint of bleach and outdoor sunshine lingering on the threads. One of my least favourite things to do is crawl out of a cozy bed to a dark, cold morning. Especially since lately I have been having trouble sleeping.

I love to cradle a hot cup of tea between both hands, savoring a rich blend of Chai spices flaring my nostrils. But I hate hot liquid burning my tongue. Often I choose to guzzle the tepid drink later because it sat forgotten beside my computer screen.

This morning I sat in quiet but not stillness. My body didn’t move, I didn’t fidget, and my hands remained relaxed in my lap. But my mind refused to settle. Thoughts galloped behind my eyes. Before the apocalypse many small bookstores struggled. Since social distancing became mainstream, they have gone silent. I hope they will last until after. After. After we are allowed to be close to one another again. After the locks are opened and we can breathe a little easier. After we can go to the dentist, the hair dresser, the post office, linger with a fresh off the press new book in hand.

These thoughts defy the will to rest, to simply be. They demand attention, they want to be seen and heard. So for thirty minutes I do battle. When it’s over I realize I had thirty minutes of tending to passing thoughts. I’m not sure if that would qualify as meditation but it meant thirty minutes without really thinking about Covid-19 and the corona virus. I didn’t solve the issue of what will happen to my beloved independent bookstores, but the distractions and outside “noise” did provide thirty minutes of welcome rest.

Stealth

cityscape(photo credit: imprm@countach.fm)

Whispering winds carry secrets
over sleepy city streets
gather and swirl
unsuspecting thoughts

Exhausted dwellers walk
through zombie days
focus on one foot
in front of the other

Up and down, over and under
air moves in stealth
a silent intruder

Scarves wrap against it
coats button it out
still it continues
growing
until it Howls

Falling Tears

Tears are falling all around me,
diamond sorrow beads
silently spilling over flushed red cheeks.

A room full of emotion
becomes a sauna as numb people gather.
Perspiration dots foreheads,
dark circles stain arm pits.

Words of comfort are spoken
while words of sorrow are swallowed
along with stagnant, suffocating air.

A youth walking
in the shadow of addiction
stepped across onto the wrong side
of the line.
In an instant his soul sped away.
Life evaporated.

Anger rises above grief.
Anger at the monster
that has come into our homes.
Anger at the beast
that has enslaved our loved ones.
Anger at the powerlessness
we have in the face of this horror.

Hot tears stream.
Heaving tears overflow.
Shocked tears splatter.

Tears are falling all around me
diamond sorrow beads
silently spilling over flushed red cheeks.

Clandestine Visitor

Light patter of feet
upon bare floor
spring rain gently tapping on glass

Little person unable to sleep
attempts stealthy reprieve from night time ritual
creeps toward lamplight

Open book lies on blanketed lap
words on yellowed pages invisible
disinterest feigned in clandestine visitor
silently daring next move

The child darts from shadow to shadow
a staccato movement
stops and starts

Her position freezes
as I clear my throat
fetching a giggle

she anticipates discovery

With the willpower of Hercules
I do not look her way

Waiting
Waiting
Waiting

Until just the right moment to
FLING
my arms out
to grab her

Squeals of delight elicited
as we tumble
into a laughing heap

Waning Gibbous

Phases-of-the-moon

(image credit: http://www.greenprophet.com)

Moon rises over city
a glowing lantern
silent symbol of graceful timelessness

She has not forgotten
her busy children

Quietly following an ancient path
she winks and shines
sees sorrow and joy
trials and tribulations
life passing through ups and downs

She offers a gentle reminder
even dark night
has its time
for glorious light