Anniversary

Ten years ago,
right about now,
Your heart said, "That's it."

You had no choice
but to crumple
like an old shirt
let fall to the floor.

After the frantic call
I whispered,
"It's ok. We'll be fine."
That permission
was the last thing I could give you,
tired as you were from
hanging on.

You were never afraid to die.
Through all the scares
over 20 years
you were most calm
when the threat was close,
when the blood was uncertain
of its flow.

Maybe you hoped
for an easy way out
of a life you hadn't quite
gotten right
but were completely bound to
by responsibility
habit
comfort
and love.

Was it ok,
in the end,
to slip away with the TV on and a cup of coffee,
having just kissed daughter and grandson goodbye?
Were you content
to leave that life as it was--
comfortable, close and known--
like an old favorite shirt?

MJO
2/12/11

She Will Rise

Stand long enough on the wet sand
And eventually
The ocean will rise to meet you
Licking at first your toes
Then kissing your thighs.
In time
taking you wholly into Herself
At the wild churning edge
Where land and sea meet
and mix it up.
Then, she is gone
leaving you wet and shaken and wondering...
What just happened?


MJO
4/16/11

A Memory of Rain

It's just me
and the slow,
warm,
Louisiana rain
on my small upturned face
in the front yard
of Granny's house
in the country.

Just me and the rain
on the aggregate driveway
of river pebbles
and smashed shells
so rough there are thousands
of tiny puddles
splashing each drop.

Me,
rain,
roughness
and the scent of wet pine needles
in drifts beneath the trees
where the rain
falls
quiet.

The creak and slap
of the screen door,
and she is there,
towel in hand,
with the smell of supper
on her clothes.


MJO
5/13/11