House in Ruins

 

We thought our house was sturdy

Until we cracked the foundation 

With our insecurity

Until we tore off the roof

With our pride

Until we flooded the living space

With our grief

Until we burned down the walls

With our anger

Until we tended the garden

With our neglect

Until we hid the ruins

With our embarrassment

At the Root

This poem was dually inspired by the photo and a writing prompt on Medium that called for a piece on the branches of the tree of life.

The branches are celebrated
For their food and their fruit
Photosynthesis their gift
But they’d be nothing without the root

The branches produce leaves
Providing shade from its shoot
Scented flowers also sprout
But nothing grows without the root

The branches spread wide
Giving the world a salute
On behalf of the noble trunk
But all respect to the root

The branches of one tree
An apple everyone’s pursuit
Promised knowledge or life
But both were buried in its root

Our family tree had few branches
Adorned with vines we’d recruit
Yet when grandma passed
The tree splintered without its root

The Meaning of Chasing Sunset

 

In the summer of 2015, mom and I embarked on a series of roadtrips, turned flights, turned cruises that would take us around the country and into others. The title of this blog, Chasing Sunset, came from our trip to the west coast where we tried multiple times to catch the sunset over the ocean and missed it in three different states. I said, "It feels like we're just chasing sunsets," and tears immediately sprung to my eyes, as I realized that is exactly what we are doing with mom. Mom's dream (bucket list, if you will), is to see all 50 states, and I'm doing everything in my power to make that happen. As of this posting, we have only seven left, including Hawaii.

The ironic part of this whole series of trips, especially the roadtrips, is that we really didn’t have time for much of anything, and yet we saw and did so much. From Niagara to New Orleans, all of New England, the UK and Ireland, the entire west coast, and everywhere in between, we made our way and took lots of pictures. That’s where this blog comes from--the sites, yes, but the moments and memories, and emotions that drive my poetry all mixed and mingled during this alone time (well, mostly alone) with my mom. I hadn’t had that in decades, and I didn’t know how much I needed it.

You may find an additional poem or two in here for special occasions, but I've now dedicated this blog to the poems inspired by the photos we've taken on these trips. They are emotional and imaginative responses to the photos, not necessarily a log of the trips themselves. That will sooner or later be a memoir.

Desert Games

 

Far beneath the clouds

In The Valley of mountains

Childhood games entertain themselves

Othello played on a sandy board

Jumping checkers left and right

As Pac-Man gobbles power pellets

Each a perfect circumference

Drawn with a Spirograph