What is your purpose? Why are you here?

Find your voice, what do you want to say?

Maybe why I really am here is to just take up this space,

and not to say much. And maybe that is enough.

Be the most spectacular
that God intended you to be. 

So who was "Sweet William"?  And how does he feel
 about having this flower named after him?

The Day The Music Died

I can't tell you what day it was,
all I know is the sadness that comes
from keys that need dusting
and pedals that are frozen,
from singing and dancing
that all end

because things change,
life goes on,
and sometimes,
music-makers forget

and the makers of the music makers
are left, shaky,
trying to hum parts of tunes
that have long been
shelved for bigger and better things

why is it that bigger and better
leaves me bereft?

lacey blue hydrangea,
memories of my Grandma's tatting
this color always makes me think of her
on her knees,
praying the rosary

this was the quiet
before the ferocious storm
shook feathers from ducks 

I'm blessed with the most
spectacular friends in the world
who can create such beauty
with cloth, thread,
time,
and love.

someone once told me
that if I ate one of these red seeds
that a magnolia tree would grow
in my belly
 all these years later
I still wonder what it would have tasted like,
but even more than that,
I wonder if a magnolia tree would really
grow in my belly 

do you ever feel
like you wish you had fewer
choices to pick from?

it's complicated
acknowledging your feelings
being true to mine

to plow ahead like
a railroad train or tiptoe
like a spider up a wall
it's all about balance,
knowing when to dive,
when to tread

it is in slowing
down and watching critters when
perspective returns

do you ever have a feeling
that you'd really rather not
dig any deeper

A man, Duane Hanson,
sculpted this from polyester resin.

She blows my mind.

As wonderfully as she is made
the very act of sculpting her
out of a carcinogen
killed Duane Hanson.

I wonder what it cost God
to make all of us.

How is it that we are here, as
Opposed to anywhere else, like
Michigan?  We all have our reasons,
Everyone belongs somewhere.

I'm a list person
adding, omitting, crossing out.

Sometimes just noticing how
the words pile on top of one another
can instill excitement
or dread
or inspire a simple wish
to see more white
on the page

a loaded bobbin,
a window of time, and the
blessing of purpose

these sweltering days
as heavy as dog's breath
I dream of autumn 

lightning-charged
bursts, the smell of gunpowder,
the rockets' wiggly
red glare

sometimes, when life
doesn't go quite the way
you had planned,
the unexpected can yield
exciting results