I wonder

What happened to the days
when we believed in Mary Poppins
and a spoonful of sugar
could save us all

Let no concept of time disturb me.

There is a kitten, or so he likes to think himself, snuggled deep within the blankets on my lap. Curled to me as much for warmth as I to him.

Shadows waltz around candlelight to quiet renditions of Leonard Cohen on the lucky-to-be-charged MP3 player and an old speaker saved just for this purpose. Their steps cover our living room in mid-atmosphere of a town wide blackout. Each sound separate from the silence under a growing blanket of unnaturally natural dark.

My sister sleeps in bundled quilts, stretched out over office and lawn chairs. The Siamese waits for her to still, gauging her body heat for his own comfort. Husband of mine is also sleeping, his form a bed for the other kitties, their eyes and ears moving frantically to catch the latest storm gossip rattling our windows.

It’s cold but I feel warmer here in the dark than I have in a long time. I haven’t felt so at peace beneath candlelight since an eight year old me spent dark nights beneath the warm glow trying to decipher fantastical stories in my grandfather’s too still home. It was as if the air around me was stagnant, only alive in the flicker flames though we had plenty of power.

Even then, I am reminded, I was a dreamer.

A word dreamer.

Now I enjoy the same moments with my patch quilt family and tell stories all my own.

Temple moths bravedancing firelight and filtered shadows between eaves
hawk like in their rain drop world

Daring wing tips turned up against the edge of night
to slice through perfumed currents

Breaking only to rest against the home warmth
listening to the river song in their air

Strong enough to carry the universe
and gentle still to lull the dragon’s sleep

Peaceful in epic wonderment
the threads of the universe collecting in thrice silken webs

Before parting again to take flight on dust glittered wings

- To Casey for sharing his musings

My inspiration was something I said, something along the lines of:

When I can get out from beneath this self-clutter…

I am here.

Beneath the scars of a cluttered past and the rotten covered strawberries of her romance. Beneath our silver pedigree and crimson charm. Beneath cardboard courthouses, paper sins, and quarters in a jar.

Between window bars and shattered glass. Between one soft voice and wish upon a comet. Between the polka dots and an empty casket- both speaking for the presence they would always never hold. Between abrasion and comfort, and blood upon the wall.

Beneath dancing shadows and moon layered masks. Beneath the billiard tables and brittle bones, the blue green glow of double stained glass, greasy food, and filthy hands.

Between one-hundred blankets and the rock hard floor. Between book dust and burning candles, the impression and the act. Between the pavement and the night caressing silent steps.

Between vodka and coffee. Beneath hay and horse shit. Between skin and the blade. Beneath the scabs- I am here!

Beneath the words, beyond the wisdom. Within the meaning and above the drama.

I am here.

Waiting for you.