circles and rhythms

time pushes out

round and round

decays of lies

placed in forgotten

rings of covered maskings

and the circles and rhythms

continue on,

growing into to a stump

to cut into history

rediscovering it still

exists…

Copyrighted:  CMM  2017

Copyright:  2017 CMM

A voice so loud, I do remember,

Early evening, in late December

“Ho ho ho”, with a thunderous caugh,

Waking from slumber, we began to laugh.

Why was he here and we not asleep?

As our grandfather yelled, “kids come take a peep.”

“It looks as though Santa has come too soon,

You are awake and giggling in your room.”

We tip toed and peered around the hall to see,

a bearded man, red suit, looking back at me.

“Ho Ho Ho”, he winked and continued to sound.

“You are awake and wide eyed, I have found.”

We stood there in awe, and not a word said,

He hugged us, “Now get back to your bed.”

I remember the night, Santa came too soon.

As I tried to fall asleep, that night in my room.

Copyrighted:  2016 CMM

I remember the little white package.

It was a rippled red ribbon so neatly tied.

Crossbow over the square gift.

Placed just under the 3 ft. Christmas Tree.

Set on a table with white cotton tree skirt.

“It’s not much,” she would say.

“Oh, Grandma, anything you give is always too

much.”

We would smile as her trembling hands reached for the gift.

“Thank you Grandma,” as we opened the gift gingerly.

There in the little gift was a pair of sheer stockings.

“Grandma, how did you know, this is just what I needed.”

She would smile delightfully with light behind her blue eyes.

You see, the gift of love was one she could not wrap in paper.

The caring hands were never measured by a moment.

Her memory is not in just one generation, but many.

Her gift, I treasure, it was the gift of love left lingering.

Copyrighted: December 2016  CMM

I enter into today with the celebration of loss and love —

I cherish your bedside as we said good bye and

All I could do is cry

It has been five years and your sweet desperation breathed between two places

Your eyes closed as some said the “Our Father” and others’  dark faces

Posturing, some told lies and some truths; you listened.

Reaching into the depths of the last moments, you closed your eyes

For the last time you pulled from a place we all know only once in time

You called out ” I love you.” The room quieted

copyrighted:  CMM  2016

I turn to see a shoe I missed

It was my Mother’s slippers

I thought I could climb the stairs

with even sounds of flippers.

I stepped into the stairway

and much to my surprise.

I lost the one, kept the other

I felt it gone and realized

I still had one on the other foot

and that was ok you see.

I will continue on in venture

carrying my mother’s shoe with me.

So such is life in little things

our children do take with him.

The climb the shoe and little

one too and leave a shoe with them.

©  CMM  2015

                                                 The Gift

I find myself (as I do every Christmas)  thinking back to a

special lady who always made Christmas so loving. There was

one gift I always remember and treasure is the one from

Grandma.

She was old and retired. She was living on a very limited

income. Each Christmas she would set up a tree no taller than

2 feet. It was artificial and set on a little table covered with cotton

from old boxes replicating snow.

She would take the little money she had and buy each of her

grandchildren hose for the girls and socks for the boys. Even

today I remember her going to the little tree. Her hands had

become old with swollen joints and trembled just a little as

she picked up the little gift wrapped in thin paper from the year

before. There was always a thin ribbon, usually red tied to the

gift. Handing me the little gift, she would say, “It’s not much.” I

would always smile to her and say, “Grandma, you have no idea

how much I needed hose.” She would smile and sit next to the

little tree. Today that gift keeps giving back to me. It was love.

I think it was chocolate mahogany

                 large rounded carved ornate legs

                 coming down under the broad leaf table.

Grandma made the green gingham tablecloth spread across

over a protective plastic lining beneath.

Seven places for the family in the evening meal,

               three generations of grandparents, parent, children,

              head of the table Granddaddy sat quiet, not saying much.

At the other head, was Grandma; she would talk about the day.

Who did what when, and “lord, it is hot today.”

Mother sat in the middle of my little sister and me.

               She often didn’t say much, when she did, it was measured.

               My older sister sat across from me with her light brown hair,

blue eyes that never smiled.

Next to her, my brother, with his dark hair and light eyes,

glancing often to the criticism that came his way.

There was a lot of pain at the table at Grandma’s house.

                The pain was from the very person who was not present.

                 It was a gift of my father before he left …

The sun would set in the evening over the table of love.

But it didn’t take away the darkness that no one spoke about.

©  copyrighted:   2002 CMM