Handprints

For the people in my life, two in particular, that have made a difference to me


I plaster five-year old handprint in a circle
While pencil-finger scribbles my name
Present it to you like an ancient fossil
Make little girl love the frame

I paint adolescent handprint on scholastic wall
The swirls have stretched like the soul they’re sewn to
Elongated fingers self-discovery in sharpie scrawl
Placing me only brush strokes away from you

I place grown girl handprint in the air
Hoping somehow to leave one meaningful mark
A personal part of me that I can share
My lighted candle in the dark

~DaLe 12/30/08

Arctic Postcard

I count button holes as if they mattered
I’m always one off despite my efforts
Sitting inside bundled up and tattered
It’s November and I’m wearing shorts

Wood floors remind me my feet are cold
My favorite socks now have holes
Humanity’s story is being retold
I can feel run-down emptiness in my sole.

I read captions now because I can’t hear
As the sounds fade to a whisper in the wind
I’m transfixed by my portrait in the mirror
Leaving my postcard to you never to send

Dear nobody I’m writing to you
Wishing you’d listen to my song
Who you are I wish I knew
I’ve been counting button holes for far too long

~DaLe 12/28/08

When Robert Talked

When Robert talked of paths I don’t think he saw mine
I’ve taken his two and cubed it, added a detour sign
I sit at the mileage marker, stare at optional ends
But know I will never predict where each timely bends

I wear jaded eternity on a string about my neck
Cling to destination unjaded by unending trek
Hoping the proximity will give my heart direction
I clutch forever, take a breath of hesitation

The Frosty morning knows no way is evil
Each alley I could take distinguished but equal
Scared to disturb treading undergrowth
I wonder which leaves will differ me the most

~DaLe 12/28/08

Nativity

Yellowed page and carved wood
Minuted moments quietly understood:
the hope of unending space wrapped
in Love found in a faithful mother’s lap
the power to change in every swaddling band
keeping warm my sin—graven in innocent hand.
The care found in The Shepherd’s crook’d staff
To search me out when I crawl crooked path.
The strength audible in winged carol
to give thankful praise in potent peril.
determined sacrifice guides my journey from afar
to take me to Him—my bright, new star.

~DaLe 12/25/08

Sisters

For my Sister

A Word
A thought
A mere memory
Yet all the years
I pointedly see
You’d laugh
I’d cry
I’d laugh
You’d cry
You got older
So did I
Without an explanation
Truly of why
The Barbies were put away
So were the blocks
We no longer analyzed neighbor’s rocks
We both had struggles
And over-achieved
How we survived
No one still believes.
Those were the days
We screamed and fought
All hopes of friendships
We feared were lost
Then one day
No one can say when
We put all away
Childish things again
Found in each other
Much more than Barbie or Ken
Found in a sister: deep love
A best friend.

~DaLe

Window Pain

White moments become white blankets
Covering past secrets in serenading flight
All the past clings to the present
In a gentle, quilted night.
Straw stitches are scented with humanity
But blown about by immortality
The rebirth of winter melts the ice
Of blanketed boughs reaching for light
Dormant sunbeams reflect in the seams
As heated breaths dance
slowly ascending into nothingness

~DaLe 12/15/08

The Swan Reflection

Her grace could never really be disputed
by any lover of beautiful things.
Yet, she is deeper than the shallow pond they place herwithin.
The fog is her's--a solemn tribute
to her keen knowledge of ugliness.
She has been passed by Bohemian eyes,
learned to friendship forested loneliness,
and she has spent summers staring at reflection
Firmly believing the beauty was found in her soul
reached by the gray-green of her endless eyes.
But awkward adolescence felt like unwarranted transgression.

So although breath-taking beauty has come
she still glides gracefully alone
and as the orange fog ascends away,
the warmth of future life finally shown
does not have quite the strength to lift her neck.
The fear of white feathers not rainbow soul being loved
keeps her quietly staring at the setting of another day.

~DaLe 12.2.08