Sketchbook  Trish Shields, CA

 

 

Cinquain White Tundra stately swans honk and squawk as they pick through the field— beaks winnow between each row of feathers     Free Verse gifts from Mom the tinkle of bells, the rustle of paper ...then silence I wait an hour then pad to the ends of their beds I whisper my gifts carefully ... may they always know love, always feel respected continually find happiness and strength while embraced within the knowing arms of God. may they be infused with patience and humility as they optimistically see life with the eyes of a child unafraid to show tears emboldened with the sure knowledge that even mercy comes at a price. may they forever understand and accept that there is no free ride and be willing to stand up and be counted when the time comes even if it is only to uphold someone else's right to be heard. nestled in bed later I wonder what the New Year will hold for us may we have the strength to face it and the skills to accept what we can't change false dawn the New Year's party finally breaks up     Free Verse with(out) it curls at the corners, becomes dusty, wrinkled, overextended yet ineffable sitting in a chair by the window their life together rolls out quietly, each moment pulling up the corners of her lips ...(even the bad times were better than the empty feeling that accompanies her daily walks alone)

 

 

 

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