When We Are Ready

All too often we hold on to the vain imaginings of "What Might Have Been".  Long after the relationship is over and the love is gone (not to mention the lover), we hold on.  It's a painful process that takes time, tears, and the generosity of spirit from like-minded friends. Here I pay homage to the process of "letting go" as it were..something none of can do until we are ready.





When we are ready

We release hopes of

What we believed

Might be our

Happily Ever Afters

We open our eyes

To the light of the real world

And wake to a dawn

Without benefit of a charmed kiss

When we are ready

We break the spell ourselves

We click our heels together

Three times

Wearing sensible shoes

Because Ruby slippers won't do

In a world without enchanted frogs

And knightless nights

Sound the battle cry!

Light the fires

Hoist the banner

Move out to battle

We who are Champions

When we are ready

Darning Eggs (for Gramma)

Some of my fondest memories in childhood are from time spent with my grandmother, “Gramma”.  She was something else! She lived with us for most of my early childhood and while the truth of the matter is that I was probably underfoot while she went about her daily routine, Gramma made me feel like the most welcome companion. She sang to me in Creole. She fed me soda crackers with butter and cheese – her daily breakfast.  And when she put on her face powder, she dabbed my cheeks too.  Her dresser drawers were filled with fabulous treasures…well, “treasures” to my five year old mind. Thimbles, pin cushions, hat pins, sachets and darning eggs.  The idea of sewing socks is something from a bygone era, but I feel extraordinary pleasure at the memory of Gramma spending the afternoon mending socks and giving me permission to handle her darning eggs.

I recall eggs kept in the corners

Of the very top drawer of the dresser

Could these be magic eggs?

What secret did they hold inside?

If I sat on one long enough

What being might hatch from within?

Silly me

Those are darning eggs.

Eggs purposed for sewing socks.

Toe holes poked through;

Heels worn thin.

What has become of the darning egg?

What has become of us with no time for darning?

Plentiful, expendable socks

Worn thin.

Tossed thoughtlessly in the trash

As we traipse to the market for more.

Will a 12-pack keep our feet adequately covered?

No magic in that

Silly me