Last Year In Rome

Paris In June

Escape

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Inhale,
exhale,
she says.
Her voice calm,
like stars floating in the night sky.
Her energy fills the room,
the breaths fill my lungs.
My spirit dancing,
om,
shanti,
peace.
My thoughts wander to
colorful peace signs on my notebook.
I wander back,
the waves wash over me,
I am in the ocean,
the soothing wind playing through my hair.
" no judgement", she says calmly,
and I melt into the moment.
Peace,
quiet,
my mind wanders,
like a cast at sea.
I reel back my thoughts into the present,
feeling lighter,
feeling gratitude,
feeling peace.

Easy ?

Every week on Friday we meet,
six word Fridays is not easy.
Melissa is our host with grace,
she is a mom, writer, friend.
She welcomes with an open heart.
We weave and we spin tales,
we encourage and we inspire friends,
through the joy, throught the grief,
we share our thoughts and dreams.

Mom's Journey

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Limencello in my chilled white cup,
the taste of sorrow,
sweet seduction.
I sip and I remember.
He held me,
as we walked,
behind mom to her final
resting place.
Prayers said in the background,
the voices drowning,
in the cries of my despair.
In the silent night,
we could not sleep,
consumed with grief and jet lag.
We drank Limoncello,
and we looked through the windows,
of our past,
the links of our life,
big and small details.
A brother and a sister,
surrendering to the ache in our soul,
inspired by the past,
to carry on.

This week is two years since my mom passed away. I miss her every day.

Blue Heaven, Key West

We walk through puddles in  rain,
streets of lost and found dreams.
The raindrops dancing on our skin,
our flip flops wet and squishy.
We search and unexpectedly we find,
the charming, casual, Blue Heaven restaurant,
whispering tales of young and old.
The outdoor courtyard enchanting and inviting,
inside we escape the steady rain,
roosters roaming outside, inside lovely ambiance.
We wait and  receive our desire,
Key lime pie with delicious mountain
of meringue, indeed a visual feast.
Sweet taste on our lips lingers,
feeds the body and the soul.

Father And Daughter

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Father to daughter,
he wrote her a story,
about a horse that broke his leg.
The published story was left behind,
in the attic of her childhood home.
Tattered and yellow,
small black print,
she longed to see.
She wondered if her father saw,
that she was broken.
She wondered if he saw fragility,
in her big brown eyes,
and he wanted her to be whole.
He wanted her to know that some wounds
don't fester.
Like the horse in his story,
all things are possible,
when you dream,
when you love.