rain dance

together
by the window
staring at the rain
splish splashing
on the streets

you run outside
twirl in your
purple dress
at 88 years old
pick a daisy
smell it
in the rain

i turn back to my tea
dear granny
will i ever
feel the
zeal that
makes you
move?

tired bones --
wake up and
dance!

morning musings

sometimes i have to remind myself
he's more than a friend

we laugh, driving along at our usual hour,
midst morning traffic
A&W smells and the hungry homeless

sometimes i have to breathe romance back into
our friendship
otherwise we just 'live together'
marriage...

we sigh,
turn the corner on our way to work
past small businesses stretching their weary arms
getting ready for another day of small successes

the miracle really lies in moments
where
you catch yourself staring at this person
realizing how absolutely beautiful they are
that's when the romance
blooms.

we smile
two girls understanding each other
and find ourselves
having
arrived.

heavenly identity

sometimes i'm just a little girl whose eyes are full of fright;
sometimes i'm a mother-type, embracing all in sight.
sometimes i'm just a teenager, dancing with myself
at other times i'm old and grey, my life upon the shelf;
but always i'm your daughter, seated 'pon your knee
who begs each day for mercy, and loves you endlessly.

humble invitation

please
invade this
space
walk across
my face
scroll the
threshold of my
mind
down the staircase
of my
heart
and
address the
ugly mess
with your
humble
hands
otherwise
i'll close up
forever
lock the doors
throw away the key
free
in my own prison of
pride
please --
invade!

boyle street community centre

i can't get them out of my mind. there they were hugging the doors, dancing on the streets in delirious stupor, staring at me like i didn't belong. and i didn't. it wasn't my turf but now i know it's there and i need to return. call it addicted to the needy. i'm needy too, i've got holes in my socks and heart and all i want to do is sit beside you and say nothing. somehow i know that bleeds Christ to you. somethow i know there's truth in pure communion. i cry out against crysal meth and all the ways it's playing with your facilities and i wish i could heal you. and i get angry at your choices and wish you had better families better homes better lives so it didn't come down to crystalizing your feelings and hardening your hearts and then dying. i want to help you. is that condescending? maybe you can help me. but i know you can't do life on your own. let me take your hand and introduce you to my youth worker, my personal friend, who knows how to take away your pain forever. it won't cost you anything. he's already paid.

dove's wings

minister to my weary soul
make these children healthy, whole
take my burdens and my tears
feed my hopes, deplete my fears
make me strong so i can love
bring peace to earth in wing-ed dove
come
enter me i pray, today, dear Lord
with you i'll stay
forever

game-boy

ordinarily i hate being stopped by the train.
today was different.
there you were,
a big man in an oversized coat on a little bench
playing your game-boy waiting for your bus.
if it wasn't for the train,
i would never have known you
existed.
you still don't know me.
you never once lifted your head
as if to reject a world that never sees you.
but i saw you.
and i hope you have a beautiful day.

dry stream

i used to be a gurgling brook
a place to wash for saint and crook
a refreshing stream with waters blue
rushing currents with fish swimiming through
the sun's been so hot, i've tried to stay strong
the rays are relentless, the days are so long
my water's depleting, i'm getting dry
the mud and the filth make children cry
who've come with their boats to float on the stream
i've failed one and all, i'm nothing but steam
please fill me up, make the sun run away
then maybe, dear friends, i'll have strength to play
with you.

married to a minister

hugging knees to chest,
i'm one of the
skinny, plump, stocky, beautiful, plain, wacky
sardines inside this tiny smelly can,
peering up at you.
dark hair shaggy, messy, three-day stubble on your face,
you've never seemed more lovely.
hands moving, motioning, urging the kids into the throne room of God.
mouth moving, speaking, pausing, deliberating,
spirit sliding out into the ears and hearts of these
hungry humans.
body bowing, kneeling, sacrificing everything for the
sake of the call
and i sing with the angels
dance in the darkness
laugh in the silence
knowing i get to share my life
with you.

tough love

no doubt there comes
a point when
tough love
blows its
horn.
the kind of love that
nails down
hands,
crucifies flesh.
i just don't see myself as a
roman soldier, able
to pick up the hammer.
but if that's what it takes to
bring you home
to break your pride
to clip your stride
then God, give me
strength.

my space on the sidewalk

some people say i have no dignity,
no right to look them in the eye.
some people make me want to scream
"stop the world so i can jump off!"
but then there are others who make me want to live.
tiny girls in pink hats grinning at me while their mothers tug them along; a teenager giving me pizza; little people tossing big bills into my hat; a man in tattered clothes coming to sit beside me, silent.
homeless maybe, but i'm not heartless.
i sit and wait to see what kind of people will pass by my space today.
maybe i'll invite them in.
maybe i'll shut them out.
but i'll always look them in the eye.

couch potatoes

don't give me pearls,
i'm not like those girls
i'll
settle for
sitting with you on the
sofa
cozy in quilts, cupping hot
mocha
watching the world
pass by on the
street
so
silent
discreet
loving the
treat of being
close
to you
don't move
this moment might end
and then
what?

guardian angel

you live in here?
i peek around the corner, shudder.
room full of ghosts and goblins, green aliens and
purple monsters.
you're in the corner, shivering.
i give you my hand,
you cling
to your monsters because they're
all you know
suddenly you stop, stare
run towards me, past me
into the arms of an
angel standing behind me
tall bright and beautiful
i look up
God winks
reminds me
i'm nothing without
Him

puddles

i'm the little girl with pink ribbons
lying in a puddle of mud
weeping
torn stockings
johnny's laughing,
pointing

i'm the adult with pink leggings
lying in a puddle of mistakes
i'm weeping
torn spirit
and
no one's even
looking

a 'washed-up' world

i stood there waiting for you, couldn't help but notice the lovely people. who would have thought the world could be found in a woman's washroom? yet there they were; of all races and statures, ages and 'classes.' one tiny woman walked with a soft tread, smiled gently, laughed; another bowed over, followed by her shrunken daughter, both wrinkled up by floods of rejection; a blond mom and her two daughters came in, nearly clinging to each other, afraid of what the bathroom held for them; another little girl in oversized glasses and a light step reminded me of myself in my bookworm, hair-gelled days. ahh, to read a book. to find the time. instead i'm standing here in a cinema washrom reading the stories of people's lives, scribbled across their faces.

saving love

you're my princess, he tells me. cups my face in his hands.
flash-back to bonnie, gentle nurse. i watched her
take husband
gary's face in her hands,
kiss him
then get
murdered. missionaries in lebanon, serving
the hate-filled.
their love was strong, but not enough to save them.
i turn, tears splash his hands and he holds me tight.
we'll cling until they rip us
apart. knowing --
there's only one whose love can truly
save.

big little girl

the police brought you home
little blond girl
surrounded by
big scary boys
you crawled into bed with your
soother
(our little secret)
squeezed tight your pink
bunny
slept
big little girl
precious as a pearl
in a field full of dirt
flee to the kingdom of
light
(flight of a wounded bird)
where He'll fix your broken
wings
make you free again

tabitha

i want to be a woman of action, not of flurry,
she tells me in a quiet, unflurried manner.

trees zip by, yellow smudges; the car hums and my heart jumps at her word-wisdom.

i want to live in peace and rest,
she adds, then stares mona lisa-like into the ever growing darkness. (i consider my own panic-propelled lifestyle, feel chagrined)

she turns eyes bright and continues,
every year i celebrate my birthday eve. it's like new year's eve, except it's the night before my birthday. i find a place of solitude, and i sit and think about the kind of person i want to be. this year i realized how selfish i was being, thinking only of my own character, so i vowed to become considerate.

we pull up to her house, she slips out with a smile and walks unhurriedly to the house where her husband has supper waiting.

tabitha. woman of contemplative beauty.

maker's touch

so bruised we break
not wanting, needing holy
healing
maker mend your millions, tiny specks on earth
faces foreign yet familiar hands lifted hearts
shifted
we need evidence of your
presence in our wicked worn world
we need fire burn the chaff of our
dark history
empty our pockets
purify us it's the only hope we have of getting
near you,
need to
fear you
make us
tremble

thoughts to digest

food, with all of its necessity, is my curse. a private one; a knowledge which i stuff into my napkin along with my insecurities. eating has never been a natural thing, encumbered by the weight of ... weight ... i'm never sure how much to take, how much to leave, how fast to chew, how slow to digest. some nights its ugly head leaps between my husband and i, crowding out any fuzzy feelings, feeding fury, worry. if we were only spoon-fed, how much easier this all-too-consuming idea of consumption would be.

hastening the holiday

the air is biting at my skin, snow is forecasted, and i'm anxious to unwrap the Yuletide. i'm reviewing countless Christmas albums at work, and perusing the malls, tracking the holiday's expensive scents. i'm a little girl again clamouring at my parent's closet wanting to know what they bought me, to dive into the wrapping paper and stick a bow on my head. yes, it's Jesus birth, but for me, He's alive year-round. Christmas means His spirit hovering, orchestrating peace in our own little world. Salted pecans in little bowls; a twinkling star atop a mammoth tree; brothers and sisters sneaking around buying gifts for one another, mom coccooned in her apron rolling out coconut balls and nanaimo bars. it's the excuse to rest, to indulge in love and laughter, to strum the guitar serenading the season, and to remember the Creator of everything wonderful. do not tarry, moments so merry. bring your tidings hither.