Damask

She wasn’t just any rose,
She was the whole damn garden
Yet, you couldn’t see past her thorns.

Patient, she waited for you to notice
Her love- abundant.
In sunshine, she bloomed
In rain, she folded herself

Her scent drove you mad
Crushed, she oozed hot-sweet pleasure
Green tea and lemons,
A spoonful of honey.

Her touch, intoxicating
Soft as velvet, artful
You swore you’d found heaven
Every beat of your heart pulsed for her

And now you sit, your mind like a moth flickering round a flame
Trying to re-capture the scent of your rose, the feel, her look
Yet, you were the one who cut her down

She’s gone
Only to blossom in memory.

 

~damask

I believe in miracles

The unseen hand of divine agency,

manifesting hope of extraordinary wonder

 

This is why I believe I’ll find you again

Against all odds

Standing outside a doorway or inside a crowded coffee shop

 

You’ll smile and say, ‘What took so long?’

 

And that will be it.

I will be home.

 

 

My sister asked, “Do you remember that morning at the beach?”
 How could I  forget?
A memory of us. Two children lost in fantasy, tiny feet dancing as the ocean kissed the sand. Accidental twins, our small bodies snuggled in white hoodies.
“You took a stick and drew a huge circle,” she said,
I remember.
“I drew a circle to protect us.”
I see her step inside the circle. She is careful not to smudge the rounded edges.
The circle was our make shift island. A sanctuary, both too young to appreciate, paused moments are fleeting. We didn’t know of danger.
The universe knew. Two sprites and a majestic sea. Brave and shivering as the winds blew. A shipwrecked dinghy, marooned on the sand. Their stick, an oar.
It was as if our mere survival depended on circles.
Circles were everywhere throughout our world. We scampered through dense forests, our hard backs kissed by a honeyed sun. When night fell, two wolf pups mapped the stars and howled beneath a buttery moon.
We studied planets. Ever curious, our questions wheeled with ‘whys.’ Never sure, we chased certainty’s tail, passionate in our quest for truth.
We embraced circles. In the 70’s it was mandalas, knotted bandanas about our heads, and bracelets upon our wrists. We drove cars round blocks, cities, and countries, always to circle back home.
We are all circles.  The whorls on our fingertips, the irises of our eyes, our DNA cells, to the egg that gave us life.
 She asked, “Will life break us apart?”
“Never,” I said. ” If we drift apart, we’re returned by centrifugal force and universal law. Our fingers, forever tangled by an invisible thread that binds.”
She reaches for my hand.
Our circle is strong.