Letting Go

In one day, the world turned from fall to winter.

The colors melted off the trees 

and got scooped into bags and carted away.

The sky covered itself in grey and the wind blew.

My hope was torn from me and the glory of the world was gone.

But even though the biting cold is going to try to freeze me solid, and

I have to relearn how to see myself without another assured half,

It’s OK.

I won’t let the ice cool my bright, warm core, and

if despair thinks he has his way with me, he will be

fantastically disproved.

Because I’m already standing up, moving on,

and determinedly infusing this bleak winter landscape with

the glory of hopeful tomorrows. 

Moving Pictures

If I died tonight,
I'd fall asleep and never wake up tomorrow.
I'd sit as an angel in Heaven
and watch your heart
like a picture show.

Habits Are Hard to Break, Hopes Even Harder

My knuckles are white because I'm afraid to let go.
The pain is becoming searing-I can't hear you because
my attention is never good when it's divided.
My stomach aches to be let free and
my mind knows it's dangerous because the
longer my fingers stay this way, the harder it will be
to help them uncurl, one aching digit at a time
but my heart?
it's the stubbornest thing.
It can't ignore the chasm opening up-
the rejection of a way of life inside my head
that I won't know how to live without
for a good, long while.
My mind says let go and my heart says
i don't want to so I say
fine. We've got to take the hard road.
I'm suspicious that what's happened so far is just the beginning
of pain so palpable I cower in denial.
I'm sorry, but
I love you, but
at this point it's not worth it.
I'm bracing for the falling,
I'm willing to force my fingers
through the sore truth until
the pain from clinging to the question marks is all but forgotten
in the glory of the absolute present existence.

Into the Woods

Hollow face,

Empty hands.

Graceful words,

Iron bands.

Wandering thoughts,

Into the frost,

Where trees explode

And minds once lost

Are found in dirt

And rocks and air.

The drop of purity

Mends the tear-

The rift in sane,

The rift in real-

And lets the heart

Begin to heal.

My House

"For this is my house.

This is my house.

It isn't much, but 

it is enough for me."

                    -Matilda the Musical

In my house, scuffs are going to be allowed.

We will always buy rainbow sprinkles and Shell chocolate sauce

like I did

so I can give my children my childhood.

We will get muddy in our bare feet.

Perfection won’t exist because we will learn how to live above it

together.

Flour will grace the noses of each of my children as I show them the picture and teach them how to play with their food.

We will not draw on walls but we will pin big pieces of paper up and draw all over them- scribbles that my son will tell me is a dog and I will think of that sacrament meeting and laugh and kiss his baby face.

My daughter will have knots in her hair after she plays like she’s supposed to-freely.

I will take them outside to play in the dirt and take them inside to play with the bath paint I always wanted to try while I wash them clean.

We will decorate our windows with happiness at Christmas.

I will teach them to cut paper snowflakes with safety scissors and will vacuum up all the paper bits that never did make it to the trash after they’re asleep.

I will never miss a day on the job as the Tooth Fairy, but my kids won’t get dollars. They’ll get quarters like I did.

Hitting will never be allowed, but hugging always will be-even if it’s in the middle of the exhausted night and sweaty from a bad dream.

There will always be an animal, because animals are therapy for me maybe more than them.

Our dog will be trained but it will be the most spoiled, loved dog in the whole wide world.

We will say prayer every night and teach those little hearts that God loves them no matter what they do.

My husband and I will not be slobs in public and we will never be fat.

We will go hiking on Sundays to teach our children about reverence for the trees and the bugs and the rocks-because God made it all. But later my husband will teach my son how to put salt on a snail and he will forget what I’ve said about not killing bugs for fun.

We will eat together, but it will never involve Cheez Whiz.

Music will be everywhere.

I will walk my children to the bus stop so they don’t have to go by themselves, and I’ll drive after the bus in my car when I get home to discover they’ve forgotten their lunch.

We will take bike rides, but before that, when I teach them to ride, I will let go and watch them fall. And I will dust them off and dry their tears and put a Superman or Barbie band-aid on and try to explain why it’s a good idea to do it again tomorrow.

I will pin their pictures and ribbons on the fridge even if it looks messy.

We will always, always have Goldfish. I’ll eat most of them.

We will have picnics inside on rainy days, and when it snows I will go out and sled with the best of them.

They won’t get a million toys every Christmas-they will get wonderful gifts, but just enough that they can actually play with them all. And they will be good toys, like blocks and trikes and art supplies, not iPods and video games.

We will read all the time. They will know that I read, and in our house reading will never be boring or stupid. It can be hard, but it will always be magic.

My children will never not know that Jesus is the reason for the season.

Our house will be the one with sidewalk chalk always out front.

College won’t be an option, but liking it will be. And they will be taught the difference.

Smiles will be abundant.

Love even more so.

My house will be somewhere we want to come home to.

Twenty

You don’t rhyme with spleen anymore.

But it’s ok; spleen’s an ugly word anyway.

Just so long as you still rhyme with Naked Juice

and Shakespeare and converse

Spiderman and Next to Normal and weak ankles.

And neither of us has rhymed with innocence for awhile

But I always will in my core.

And it will be no surprise that

I’ve recently rhymed with aching,

but I’ve also recently rhymed with Harry Potter,

How to Train Your Dragon,

and forgiveness.

But not everything has changed; some things never will.

I still rhyme with crunchy leaves

and crayons and ice cream with rainbow sprinkles

even though they taste like faintly sugared powder.

And you and I?

Well, we still rhyme with Lord of the Rings, and

races at midnight and toeing the verbal line.

We still rhyme with “play” and music and give and take.

We still rhyme with destiny and blessings

and the words 

best friends.

See -- Saw

Little girl-long hair flying.

Up, down.

Up, down.

High as you can go-but then it gets scary.

Goodnight, love.

All you want is to feel the solid

Smack.

Of your feet on the wood chips, dirty dust, hot rubber.

I’m not ready.

And then suddenly, flying feels like the best thing in the world.

I want that.

It’s the in-between that’s the worst.

Right after, coming down, all you want is

gravity again. Stable, predictable gravity.

It wasn’t               enough.

But even that gets old.

And sailing up, all you want is to get there

Finally be brave enough to stay in the sky instead of flying back down.

I’m ready.

But back down you come; always.

Because you haven’t learned to overcome the jolt in your stomach,

the way you always feel off-balanced.

You always ride the see-saw; you’re an expert.

I thought it wasn’t a problem the whole time,

but I think I just didn’t realize.

But that little girl is growing up;

She’s getting too big for those childish games.

And nobody’s calling you love anymore.