watercolor by Marcos Beccari

 

Renascence

Observed from a distance below the surface, she is concealed by inky blue, limbs kicking free, ripples surround.

Head submerged with a beacon of sun, befall the baptism.

She surfaces from the spotlight and swims to the short berth where a companion awaits. Not so pure the mix and live with anticipation, Golden wags wildly seeing her after playing obedient guardian of the towel. 

She dries, dancing on the dock in excited reunion with her best friend as he jumps, laps, and butts into her legs like a baby doe. The truest young love, anyone can see. The observer feels alliance even from afar.

Missteps in time, now she is facing the lake floor, quietly floating away, a flat balsa lifeless and calm.

Golden is wild, barking bravery wasted on the dock of departure. Moments lost for any words, thoughts, apperception.

Sight within, another birth to parlay.

The observer is wet too.

~ SMF

watercolor by Marcos Beccari

Now

Now

The knot in my stomach tightens

Squeezing tears, dripping

Like a drenched towel left on the clothesline in the rain

Twisted in clenched fists.

I’ve missed you so much

Just as you miss him now

But you are still here, yet not.

I often force myself to remember

That playground looks different now,

I don’t recognize it with all the modern greens,

Smaller, less inviting than when we went there,

Tammy in her stroller, I pulled the chain down

Securing her in the metal swing

Now a ghost at that park.

Remember when we were in our own world, playing with dolls,

In the park, in the living room, on the kitchen table,

I need to hold onto those grainy colored snapshots

For that person is no longer here.

Now she sits alone in the kitchen listening to melodies of his native tongue

Understanding better than when he spoke to you.

And you cry as I cry,

Gripping pain, face twisted and squeezed,

You said you wish he would visit you in this desolate place

While I just want you to return to see a pretty sunrise,

Or a red-breasted robin singing in the yard.

But I know you cannot, will not,

Allow yourself such pleasures.

Angry words burn in my head as I realize we are the same

Recognition,

Guilt and loss, a penance

Boring holes too deep to fill with empty words.

SMF

 

The early dawn speaks in moody color

Awakening with a recollection of my lunar mother

As she flew to my throat, this master of disguise

Determined to soften, to illuminate a vernal path of light

Wealth in blind faith, I will follow.

 

Nocturnal luster flutters forth, and I can see clearer now

Enchantment from the shadow depths

Change is apparent as I question purity at hand

Intuitive birth beginning from a mere thought

Wealth in blind faith, I do follow.

 

Spoken words from within rising to my lips

A collective emerges

Under the velvet moon we rise, voices void of sound, rich in color

Drawing innermost shadows to the canvas

Wealth in blind faith, we follow.

 

Searching for balance and beauty, a portal sought

In realms of truth and trust

Passage to where though? dare I ask

Uncertainty reigns under the velvet moon

But wealth in blind faith, I still follow.

 

~Sonya M. Fitzmaurice