my mom used to play piano in church
we’d clap our hands like the trees of the field
and it would marinate our house on Sunday mornings
while she practiced
In Texas she would put the house to sleep
at the ivory keys
and I was mesmerized by the instrument
it’s maze of wires and the curved wood
Her body swayed in time while her feet
peddled the melodies
and the bass would rumble as her
fingers climbed the scales
I never had nightmares on the nights
she played the piano
because the music washed over me like a blanket
warm and heavy
There’s something about piano
it doesn’t matter where I am
when the last note lingers and
I find myself, eyes closed in reverence,
hanging on for just one more note …
because I just went to church
and God spoke right to me.
This weekend I slept-in and wore a robe til noon
We made messy coffee and cradled crumbs in the nest of our hands
We ate around a table, a round table
Bought a broken pie safe and now I keep all my platters on display
in a rickety and pealing cabinet that looks like it lived
a happy life, feeding anyone who needed something
My heart jumps when I see photos of our kids as babies. How did all this time pass already?
Look at those cheeks, those little toes. Look at the way they trusted us, look at the way they still do…
I’ve learned that I love with everything inside of me, whoever I love, whenever I love them. Boys who become men, especially my own.
Where the deepest bass inside of me vibrates, where it’s more of a feeling than a sound. My heartbeat rings.
the music is louder
the sun, pinker.
the wind whispers softer
the smell of cedar, greater.
I feel all of the things lately.
Regret is the calm comfort of yesterday
Sadness hurdles change and sure steps take it’s place
Happiness is the ribbon of light streaming in
and the dust dances in her wake like glitter.
All the poems I want to tell you, All the
things I want to give away and watch you take from me:
if you could just put your hand on my heart:
these are the words I don’t know how to write
from the closet of my wardrobe heart.
hung on hangers, taped inside of shoe boxes
stacked three deep in the back of the attic.
Where old dresses and hats and
gloves and high heels litter the rafters.
Dig around in there, excavate my soul.
if you could
just put your hand
Today is the kind of quiet that comforts you.
I can get my feelings hurt pretty easily, turns out I’m not the only one, and I needed today and it’s “keep in” weather to bring me back.
I want to sit in wide open spaces with people all around me and music in my ears. Large windows, hot drinks, books and pages turning. Story telling, people watching.
But instead I’ll sit in a darkened corner of my house drinking tan coffee with a sea of brown sacks at my feet and baskets exploding with mis-matched socks and limp tshirt arms, just waiting for a heart beat.
On the coffee table are our prettiest crayons. The ones that haven’t been broken or disembodied. The ones we keep in a separate container, like it will help keep them that way. There’s 4 different colors of red and a beautiful yellow. Green, pink, purple. White paper.
And my favorite thing about this scene is the silence.