I Take Everything Personal

We are a web of humanity
Rising above the cacophony
To focus on a smile or a glance
Or maybe the chance
To wrap a string of ourselves
Around the pinky of another hand.
In this land of obsession over personality
Can we also have personability?
Seeing in a face more than appeal or hopelessness
But a sameness in a reflection
Of similar’s existent inflection.
- DaLe 4.28.10

Snowflake Eating

Thus falls the snow,
making pure this world of gray
in blankets of holy heaven:
morphing mud, rock, and fields fallen
into quiet calm eternity.

A scarlet sun melts,
losing color into reflecting banks.
leaned against empty stores
is a lifeless shell of heart,
hushed in carnal sin.

The bouncing flakes find me,
fusing to my hands and lips,
hiding crimson shadows of flesh
with wool made snow white
in specs turned to layers,
changing nature simple
as a child catching Heaven’s dust
on joyful tongue.

~DaLe 01.31.10

Acorns

The window has closed, but you have left
With me the residue of adventures.
Only months have walked between us,
But those steps force wrinkles
Into my youth, time has tolled my mind.

I have kept acorns. They shield
My heart from arrows shot
From a world full of naïve,
selfish emotion. If some dare
to believe I am unchanged from you,
I show a pocket full of dust—
Happy thoughts from the days I flew.

I hope I gave you thimbles, memories
To shield the pricks of shadows
That come loose and flee,
As my shadow should. To live:
The happiest thought I clutch,
A solo adventure now.

Fall creeps into unshadowed winter,
Forcing the window pain closed.
I shove my hands into nightgown pockets,
playing with acorns as I sleep.

~DaLe
10.11.09

I Believe in Angels

NPR did a series for many years entitled "This I Believe". People from All over the United States could send in their memoirs, and if chosen, they would read them on the air. The series is over now, but I decided to write one nonetheless.

I didn’t always believe in angels. Not the kind that came to ordinary girls like me. Sure I believed in the ones that appeared to the prophets in the scriptures, to the really important people, but I didn’t believe in the ones that talked to little girls in inaudible tones in those quiet moments before sleep.

My grandmother died before I ever reached my first birthday. Her cancer infiltrating her bones until they broke while my grandfather was carrying her from her bed to her sitting chair. I learned to hear her speak from listening to my dad periodically pull out her personal history, and bring her southern sass and deep-fried faith to life. A special feeling would come over me while he read, and I found myself longing for other moments that would bring that spirit back, her spirit.

I didn’t realize it was her that I long for until I was talking to a friend in college, and he brought up the idea that those that comfort and speak to us in those crucial times in our lives are those loved ones that have passed on. When he said it, it just made sense. I thought back to all those times I had needed heavenly assistance, and the feelings seemed to match the ones I felt when lost somewhere in shared memories of Grandma.

There were the big times: when my older sister got in a car accident, and no one was sure if she would make it through the night. I had argued with her that same night and I blamed myself. I lay on my side and cried for hours, willing my repeated words of “I’m sorry; I’m sorry” to reach the heavens. Somewhere in those sobs, I found overwhelming peace, so personal and loving it felt like the arms of heaven folded around my adolescent torso. It must have been her accepting the mission to comfort a granddaughter in the depths of despair.

There were the smaller times of heartbreak, and fear: when the paths of life scared me so much I fell on knees in hopelessness. There that feeling would come, filled with the same love that made personal plates of chocolate chip cookies, and laughed until tears ran down her cheeks.

One day I came walking into the house from the garage, talking to my dad as I came, and then I turned the corner. He stopped mid sentence. “You look just like my mom right now” he said. I like to think that’s because the older I get, and the harder life seems to treat me, the more she is with me—even showing in my face, eyes, and smile.

For people of faith, the promise of Jesus Christ from John 14: 18 to not leave us comfortless, is a promise of reality. For me, that comfort comes in the calming presence of my grandmother. So, I believe in angels, because even though I can’t see them, I think they bridge the gap of heaven and soil to remind us that there’s more than just dust and earth, and that family ties go deeper than time.

Argyle Goodbyes

The cloth folds you.

Tucks piercing blue into loops of gray cotton,

Sewed pattern crisscrossed by care,

Saturated with diamonds of rivered memory,

Parallel with barren voided, tearful streams.

I know too well the stitched Os and Xs,

Dyed a fabricated tic-tac-toe of warmth.

But the haunting long embraces,

Threaded with joint adoration

cross my heart with pain

Not the Hershey’s kisses.

chocolate is just too sweet.

The cloth folds me,

As I put away my argyle sweater,

and you, at least for today.

09.22.09

Ivory

I played her until my right wrist hurt
All my soul spread across the musical chess board.
With anything but mathematical logic I cornered cords,
Forcing the triads, and dissonant melodies to converse,
Inaudible language made from audible notes—
The piano full of 88 friends; I passed soul’s loose leaf,
Hoping that no one of consequence could see.

She is my old friend
Fingerprints of friendship painted on her ivory skin:
Originated in sticky little girl fingers, unwashed, wild,
Then in adolescence’s tear-touched thumbs,
That played with her, because all else refused.
She was constant, responding always in love,
Never remembering hasty mistakes,
Adoration coming in practiced companionship.

I had moved on
Leaving her stringed soul for others to love
Yet, she imprinted on me eternally
Giving me her off-white hue as proof:
Her music resides in my soul.
Who could dispute her love?
As I touched her keys, I finally understood
It was she that touched me.

~DaLe 08.26.09

Monsoon Season

You touch my thoughts like a slow rain,
Drizzling into every part of my mind,
Until every moment is laced with you.

I’d like to dance in the downpour
Abandon all weather patterns that keep you distanced.
But clouds demand that I see you in sleep only;
Hear you solely in telephonic thunder
The sound rolling into every drenched limb
But just as quickly silent; still in my eyes
Is the lightning reflection of you.

You help me feel alive, like thirsty farmland,
I soak in you; find that I have grown greener:
Your steady drive into the Heartland
Drives you deeper into the soil of my heart,
Where all roads are a one-way path to you.

So, as the rain clouds start to form,
I stop and smile for awhile.

~DaLe 08.25.09