Biting my tongue which lightly touches my lips,

I sit, concentrating, paintbrush in hand.

My faces skews up to almost a scowl,

really, it isn’t pretty to see.

The strokes do not come easy,

uncertainty clouds my mind, shakes my fingers.

I don’t know why I get this way,

I look around at the other pottery painters,

they laugh, talking with their friends.

For me however, I need tunnel vision,

I need to focus on what I do.

Art, this art, makes me walk away from my work,

makes me look elsewhere, but it is hard.

I see my perfectionist trying to come out.

Don’t color outside the lines!

Did I get the right paints?

Will this turn out good enough to give?

Straighten up that painted edge,

careful, careful, CAREFUL!

I know, if I’d just relax, let go a little,

it will turn out better than how I’m doing now.

I put the piece down, then rinse the brush.

I pause, and I breathe. I relax my face,

unclench my jaw and realize I’ve bit my tongue.

I accept where I am, and move on.

The piece was really done, do any more

and I’ll really mess it up. STOP.

Flickering candle, light the way,

reveal to me what to say,

So many emotions wrapped up in your flame,

Happiness, joy, sorrow and shame.

In time I know your illumination shows,

Forgiveness may come as the light glows,

Forgetting his influence? It will never fade.

Yet through this darkness I still wade.

Some days are hard and that’s when I need him most.

But his life didn’t move forward, called to be a ghost.

I don’t know if there really is a heaven or hell,

but I toil and carry on doing my best as well.

Now, the crackling of the fire brings me back.

I must attend to chores and have life to attack.

---

A constellation landed on my ankles

this weekend under the stars.

An evening walk to the spring’s shore.

A beautiful night filled with a brilliant show,

Twinkling lights and satellites abound,

Even a few shooting stars to astound.

But as I crawled back into the tent,

The sensation started to set in,

Itching and scratching soon followed,

and now days later, the marks remain.

What should I call them I wonder,

what would they be if I connected the dots?

A horse running across the field,

and mountains on the other side,

Maybe just figments of my imagination

running away with me until

my ankles have time to heal.

---

Those darn mosquitoes!

I linger longer,

longer than I should,

When memories are triggered

by the little things.

A smiley at the end of an exchange,

Reminds me of your real grin.

An inside play on words,

I smile from ear to ear

When it comes up

after all these years.

An old photo

from a trip out west,

A vacation I rank up there

with the best.

A click of the shutter

when I look through the lens,

Even that takes me back

to times back when.

Other thoughts and memories

come to mind,

Some make me blush

and even fantasize,

But many are precious,

innocent and sweet.

The day he asked

For me to be his mom,

That’s when I knew,

I hoped, it would

Always be you.