The Lucky Ones

Photo: Rabbit's Den 

And we were the lucky ones
We made it through our childhoods unscathed
Perhaps there was the stray hand on our knee
     underneath the dinner table at Thanksgiving
Or the overly friendly hug
     from a teacher
But we were lucky
We were not the faces on the milk cartons
We were not the bodies found
     desecrated and dead

We were the lucky ones
Our youth didn't die in shotgun weddings
     to boys we didn't love
Nor in back alley nightmares
     from which we might never return
We were lucky
Our nightmares were bright and antiseptic
Wake up, wipe our eyes, and carry on
We had no right to cry

We were the lucky ones
Our bodies were not battered
Perhaps our souls were shattered
Maybe we've been betrayed
     by lovers' lies or dreams that died                       
But we were lucky
Our children had a home
No bruises, no broken bones

We were the lucky ones
We were pale and weak
And lost our hair
But we were lucky
Our hearts still beat inside our ruined chests
Our hands still create beauty
     though we are no longer beautiful
We sing for those
     who lost the battle we still fight
And we were the lucky ones

Angel

Photo prompt from Magpie Tales #51

The telephone rings

It's you on the line

I can hear the Jack in your voice

You say that you've been thinking of me all night

But I know that you just called me up

To share your latest disaster

You were lonely and hoping

That I could put things right

So come on over

I'll share my bed

I'll share my last bottle of wine

We'll talk about her

And how she broke your heart

Then you'll tell me

If you'd been smart

You would have stayed with me

And you'll hold me 

Until you start feeling fine

Anyone looks like a savior

When you're face down in the mud

Your madonna is the first hem you can grab

But will I see you at my door

When you're feeling fine

Or only when your days are looking drab?

You tell me I'm too good for you

I'm an angel of this earth

That you can't change

Your damage and your taint

But I would gladly trade these wings

If I could hold your hand

I'd rather be your lover

Than your saint

My Church Has No Walls

I've never found God in a church

But I think I've found Him sitting at the bottom

     of a nice cup of tea.

I've never seen God in a temple

But I think I may have spied Him on a tree branch

     while the goldfinches ate thistle from the feeder.

I've never felt  peace while meditating

For my mind is too busy trying to be peaceful

But I've felt peace while watching raindrops 

     slide down my window.

I've never talked to God while praying
But when I move a turtle away from a busy road
Or squeeze through a door
     so as not to disturb the day's work of a spider
Maybe He understands me.

Am I somehow less to God

Because my religion has no name

And my church has no walls?

When I hear the barred owl call at dusk

I think I know God's voice.

When I witness the green striped caterpillar
     emerge into the swallowtail butterfly

I start to believe in the rebirth of the spirit.

When I listen to my child breath as she sleeps

And  feel the warm body of my love near me at night

I know I am blessed.

When I hear the gentle snores of the dogs

And the chirps of the crickets

And the coffee as it drips into the pot

     and waits, hot, for me in the morning

I believe.

submitted for Poetry Potluck Monday at Jingle Poetry

What Comes After

submitted for Mag 50

"So, it's you again." She spoke to me in a grudgingly bored tone. "Um, yes, I suppose so. And who exactly are you?" I asked. She gave a slight laugh, rolled her cornflower blue eyes like an impertinent adolescent and said, "That always kills me-if you'll pardon the expression! No matter how many times you people do this, you never remember any of it! You always look so clueless. It really is funny if you could see it from my perspective." "Which is...?" "Oh, yeah, sorry. You're dead, hon. I'm your guide to the After. Again." I tried to process her words. Was this a joke? It didn't feel the least bit funny. I knew that I had been sick. I remembered the ambulance ride to the hospital, then...what? "I'm really dead?" "Yup." "Then that makes you an angel?" "In a manner," she answered, picking her cuticles. She really seemed to be taking my death very lightly, and I admit, I was a tad peeved at her casual manner.

I looked around me at the bare trees, the snow (which I now noticed wasn't making me the least bit cold), and then up at the figure of an arrow which looked as if a stencil had been transposed upon the entire scene. "May I ask where we are?" "This is the 'After.' You've been here before, you know. Well, you don't know, but I do. This is where you come when you die, to decide what comes after." "After what?" I asked her. "After this life, " she said. "You know, they really should give an adult ed course on this or something so it's not all so puzzling. The life you've just led was only one possibility. There are infinite other lives you could have led. All depends which arrow you choose. The one you see here is transparent because you've done it. You know it. But you can still choose it again if you want. There are loads of other arrows you can choose instead. But you can't see what's behind them yet. You have to live them first. It's like that show, you know, Door Number 1 or Door Number 2? Maybe you get a new car; maybe you get a year's supply of kitty litter."

I tried to wrap my head around the idea of my life as a year's supply of kitty litter. It seemed too random, too cruel. "And what if I don't want to choose? What if I don't want to play 'Let's Make a Deal?'" She paused, then shrugged, "You can always opt out, stop playing, stop living again." This was getting too weird. "What happens to me then?" I asked. "Well, nothing." "Nothing?" She attempted to explain, "Nothing. Zero. Game over. It's sorta like you're a playing piece that's removed from the game board. The rest of the game just goes on without you. Think of it like you're the iron in Monopoly. One day, the iron piece never existed so no one misses it. It isn't and it never was." So now I was being compared to the iron in Monopoly. Not even the car or the Scottie dog! I had never felt so insignificant in my life (or death).

"So if you don't mind," she continued, "would you hurry up and choose what you'd like to do next because I have others I need to guide too. I hate to keep people waiting in the After. They get enough of that in doctors' offices and the DMV and whatnot." "Oh, sorry," I apologized. "It's just that it's kinda hard to absorb all of this so quickly. Death and all. Alternate lives." She smiled. "That's always what you say," she replied, "and then you end up repeating your same life over again because you can't decide to do anything different. I probably shouldn't be telling you that, probably against the rules or something, but this is getting kinda tedious from my end, so I thought maybe I'd tip you off and perhaps you might, shall we say, take a leap of faith and do something different this time."

I looked up again at the arrow from where I'd come. It did look somewhat familiar, comforting, perhaps even a bit dull. Then I noticed hundreds of other arrows all around me, pointing in all different directions. I had no idea where any of them led, and the disorientation agitated me. This was ridiculous. What was the worst that could happen? I was already dead! "Well?" she goaded me once again. I looked straight in her cornflower blue eyes, pointed, and stated in a voice that sounded much more decisive than I actually felt, "This one."