I come to this empty beach
to collect rocks
worn smooth from tumbling against
each other and rolling
in and out with the tide for eons.
Today, I search for pure white marbles.
Another day, it will be heart stones
or large, flat pancakes
with flecks and sparkles.
As I wander down the beach,
my breath matches the waves
that break against the shore.
I wish to be nowhere else but here.
I know something more about rocks
polished by the sea.
For I , too, have been tumbled smooth and hard.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
I carry my rocks with me.
April is National Poetry Month and I set the goal to write a poem a day. I have six more days to go — and it’s been a great joy to be playing with words again. You can find my month of poems here: http://tiferetjournal.com/april-2018-poem-thon/
Thank you for reading!
And every night was an adventure.
I didn’t fly, I simply lifted at will,
looking down without fear
at the world below.
No one looked up
while I was suspended overhead,
and I had no concerns
about the people below.
I didn’t see a string,
but something guided me,
softly lifting and lightly touching down.
Tonight, I will more likely
be naked while no one notices
or running late to take a test
that I haven’t studied for.
No wonder I lie awake for hours.
To illustrate rise, the softest pinks and purples of an early morning sunrise from a quiet cove at Lake Winnipesaukee, New Hampshire.
To illustrate set, an ominous sunset after an unforgettable tornado and high winds slammed through Fargo, North Dakota, on an otherwise quiet, mid-summer day.
We have no words of welcome for you here.
Did you take a wrong turn, forget the address?
What purpose in taking this woman, this mother, this wife?
What twist of fate have you tapped into?
Why slip in to take this life without a whisper?
We’re left to make sense of your choices.
To find purpose in a life without.
To recreate faith and hope.
That’s what humans do
after you leave.
And so we begin again.
Finding our way into a new year,
looking for tracks left behind from the last.
These first days feel unshaped,
vague, ghost-like, without definition.
As if they, too, are undecided where they’re going.