23 September is my Firstborn’s Birthday
She is a chapter in my heart’s book that will never be finished
Reading the piece “Grief” by the beautiful human and talented poet SouldierGirl, opened an old seam in the fabric of me…
Does my grief equal? Can I speak at all to offer comfort?
Three of my babies were never born
“You’ll have more”
“Better now than when they’re older”
“I would have married you”
Well-intentioned words, with the accuracy of blow darts
My lost angels
I have screamed at the notion that time heals
In the truest sense, it does and it has
I rewove the fibres of my being with those threads missing
Altered by an absence
Fashioning Taj Mahal pockets in my heart
Stitch by careful stitch, day by month by year
I go on
28 August 2015
From MLMM’s description:
“This week I want you to share a poem, drawing, story, photo, sculpture, etc that you’ve put your soul into creating. Something that touches on the deepest most vulnerable parts of yourself. Something raw and exposing. It need not be something new or something created specifically for this challenge. It might be your most accomplished piece of work or it might be a piece that you have never shared before. Maybe it makes no sense to anyone other than you or maybe it has gotten a lot of positive publicity. Maybe you sit down right now, in this moment and pour your guts out. Show us what you’re made of!”
Although I never had the chance to gaze upon your tiny face
I’ve often felt your too short existence blessed my life with grace
I never knew the sweet joy of your tiny fingers wrapped round mine
Never counted each of your tiny toes, or kissed your hair so downy fine
But I often imagine that somewhere better, you can look down and see
And that you know, my sweet lost angel, you are still precious to me
20 June 2012
~ Excerpt 5 May xxxx
This is the private journal of Lady Karin Elizabeth Tupper Bole-ington the Third by Proxy.
At last Dear Diary, I have recovered from the festivities. One finds it hard to believe that not so long ago, soirées lasting into the small hours were the norm at least each fortnight. My daughter, the most beautiful and talented Lady Caitlyn Elizabeth Bole-ington Ghadbanishness of Doom comported herself with customary aplomb, much to the delight of her companion mummers and those in attendance. The Amazing Mummers of M’Alice Cooperson regaled the house with new material in the form of old songs sung by the first troubadour of Cooper, “Alice” himself. It was plain to see that even those long past their lessons, were happy to agree in tuneful form that indeed, the institution of learning is out for summer. I myself Diary, cannot condone the hooliganism of blowing the school to pieces however, I hope this was just the enthusiasm of the moment. The visual extravaganza came off without a hitch and the tavern keep must be well-pleased with this take from the evening. Frivolity and the imbibing of spirits abounded!
I must have been a fright when our carriage dropped me off at my door right at the Witching Hour – how very appropriate! I was bursting with pride at my offspring’s success and mightily pleased that the full body armour extra lycra corsetery of Spanx held through the evening and through my preening like a proud mother peahen.
It is somewhat vexing that the two strong acolytes that should have come with my purchase of particularly lovely high-heeled slippers, did not arrive with said purchase. I shall know to inspect the parcel before wearing them to another venue of no seating, much dancing – though fortunately none of the new-fangled “body surfing”! Henceforth, I will wear my suitable and sensible shoes from the wonderful cobbler Dr. Marten.
It could be said Dear Diary, that performances go smoothly in all aspects and there is a minimum of tomfoolery. In truth, I attend these events to ensure Lady Caitlyn’s virtue. There are many randy lordlings and no lack of lords that I would find rather stale-dated who vie for her affections. I know she finds my presence reassuring and I think I’m most subtle in my approach though I admit, my dexterity with a hockey stick and the posterior of some… less erudite suitors is not always appreciated. Fortunately, these are infrequent occurrences. Sigh… some people’s offspring. It does provide for much merriment in the “Book Of Faces” that is shared among boroughs and districts far and wide.
The evening’s entertainments included party favours and apparel. I was particularly pleased that Lady Caitlyn’s image is emblazoned upon the chemise heralding the name of the mummers’ troupe along with her stalwart mAlice Cooper compatriots.
Pleased too, that my “Bridesmaid’s Bound” remains as quick as ever. I was able to obtain, with minimal damage to myself or any masonry, a strange, though cheerfully bright eye patch. I’m sure it will be useful should the next event be a costume ball. How very festive I shall look!
And now Dear Diary, I think I have relayed all the evening’s cheer, tomfoolery and good companionship. I must now close and apply a little more salve to the chafe marks left by the corset of Spanx and mayhap place an order with the Apothecary for more Spackle and headache powders…
~ kei (the erstwhile Lady Karin, etc. etc. and I swear I won’t do this to your poor eyes again!)
5 May 2015
~ Excerpt 2 May xxxx
This is the private journal of Lady Karin Elizabeth Tupper Bole-ington the Third by Proxy.
A lovely soirée is planned for this evening. My daughter, the most beautiful and talented Lady Caitlyn Elizabeth Bole-ington Ghadbanishness of Doom will be performing at a lovely venue with her musical retinue, The Amazing Mummers of M’Alice Cooperson.
I am most singularly perturbed and wishing greatly for a fainting couch, unfortunately stolen for the purpose of repaying debts, by the cad Sir – though he doesn’t merit his father’s title – Limpnoodleston Swindless of Perfidoria, my erstwhile beau and failed spaghetti merchant. It’s been a fortnight times thirty-six weeks since my last foray to the Opera District and I am in something of a dither!
A pox upon great-grand-aunty-cousin-twice-removed-theodosia-karmelina-snickelfritz-bottomsupendish for passing down this purple hair!!
It is so-o-o-o vexing having to match the shade of violet damson plum without my maidservants about to help me.
God knows how I’ll lace myself into the cantilever underpinnings of Spanx for this evening’s festivities…
In truth, the assigned duties of parent and the requisite societal requirement to be not only presentable but… fun… are enough to give me the vapours! I do look forward, dearest diary to having delightful tales and tidbits to share of the evening when I return to you tomorrow.
~ kei (the erstwhile Lady Karin, etc. etc.)
2 May 2015
From Al’s description: “Welcome to Haibun Thinking. A weekly challenge to get your creative juices running. The challenge is to create something from one of the prompts below using the form of the Haibun. A piece of work ending in a Haiku style poem of three lines.”
Al provides both a photograph and a literary quote as the prompt each week.
The literary quote this week: “Grown up, and that is a terribly hard thing to do.
It is much easier to skip it
and go from one childhood to another.”
– F. Scott Fitzgerald
Eli’s Ever After
I was convinced that if I could pretend I wasn’t looking, I would catch a closer look at the wee pixie that followed my parent’s car. For years, she accompanied me, leaping and running at light speed along the highway verge, from fencepost to fencepost. Tiny, brown; always smiling and happy. She was a fixture of family trips.
Often, I would find myself seeing through her eyes, feeling the wind and the blur of the earth under my feet. It was exhilarating!
Some days, I still see her running beside me. She’s slowed the smallest bit in the intervening years. That makes me smile; I was worried I’d lose sight of her when I had to start using this walker!
Doesn’t truly disappear
It lives in your heart
14 October 2014
Friday Fictioneers prompt for 12 September 2014.
What is Friday Fictioneers? Rochelle presents a challenge to write a one hundred word story that has a beginning, middle and end, based upon a picture that she provides on her blog.
Here is today’s picture prompt (below).
Word Count: 100
Her hands worried a stray thread absently as she gazed out at the frozen river and then glanced back to see it reflected in the mirror behind her. The gaping hole in the ice wasn’t there, nor the yellow caution tape tied to the scrub at the shore.
What she did see was herself, afghan tucked around her lap in the wheelchair. A little boy scrambling about on his knees, Thunderbird 2 in one pudgy hand and Thunderbird 1 in the basket of toys beside him.
Not lying in the muddy, cold weeds at the bottom of the river’s edge…
10 September 2014
Thinking of you my Joshua Cináed
When I woke up, you were on my mind
Would your eyes be blue like your Daddy’s
Or would they be green like mine
Must be that another year’s flying by
Twenty-seven this coming September
It’s rare that I still break down and cry
But I always will remember
It’s said there’s a reason for everything
I need to believe that it’s true
And I wanted to let you know today
How very much I wanted you
The little girl stopped in her tracks, still as a mouse. She could see a little boy on the path up ahead. Her heart jumped a little and she tried to make herself invisible; realizing in dismay that the pink organdy ruffles, frilly petticoat and shiny white shoes she wore were shouting to be looked at.
At least, that’s how it seemed whenever she was around other children her age. She noticed the boy stop and turn his head slightly in her direction, but it was only for a moment and then he started to move along the path again, stopping at the base of a large tree. She watched as he quickly shinnied up the trunk, pausing now and then to tilt his head and observe his surroundings, all the while smiling and sometimes whistling. Eventually, he settled himself in a crook of some of the highest branches. Keeping to the ferns along the side of the path, the little girl walked toward him and reaching the foot of the trunk, looked up in awe at the boy’s lofty perch.
It was only a moment before she was startled to see a battered baseball cap fall at her feet. Her eyes darted to the boy and she saw him waving her up in a gesture of “Well are you going to stand there all day or are you coming up”?
She looked at her unlikely shoes but scooted up the tree, pink frills and all and settled in the crook of the branches with him. He didn’t seem to mind that her Stepmom dressed her like a china doll and her quiet responses of nodding head and widened eyes didn’t put him off a bit. He told her his stories with smiles and waving hands and she could see every distant land of which he spoke in all the shiny colour and beauty that he did.
She followed him in his careful descent of the tree and they at the base of the tall oak. An unlikely pair; one in a Red Sox cap, faded jeans and high top sneakers and the other dressed up as pretty as a cake-topper.
They stood just looking at one another for a few moments, and then he turned his head sharply behind him and then back to her. She could see a quick decision in his eyes and he stepped forward pecked a tiny kiss on her cheek then turned on his heel and ran. Toward the figure of a woman far down the path, she could see.
He paused once to turn around and she watched him mouth the words “Can you come back tomorrow”?
She raised her hands and made the signs that were the words, she was still learning. “Yes. I’ll be here”.
She never knew that he could not see her response and she couldn’t hear his excited “I found a friend who can see just the way that I do, Mumma.”
24 May 2013