survival

That four poster bed and me at the foot…

was the beginnings of beginnings

and the irony it took.

My Mother’s plight to come back home,

when our Father’s fights,

were all we had known.

Grandparents adjusting

and opening their doors,

no one needed to sleep on the floor.

The nights we laid, kittens in bed,

me at the foot,

as they snuggled at the head.

Quilts laid busy acoss us just right,

four poster jammed,

with three quite a sight.

As we grew older and given each a bed,

I will never forget the four poster bed,

me at the foot and they at the head.

I wonder in life when all things askew

and the trials I endured

whether old or renewed.

If being at the foot of this bed

gave me the will to survive,

in keeping my head.

© CMM 2002

I look into his face,
the eyes of steely black,
knowing for him to survive,
I must mount his back.

It is now him and me
at the bottom of the incline.
This sturdy force, this muscled mass,
must take upon his climb.

I cross over his strengthen barren back,
one I’ve known so well,
together we will climb this cliff,
the cliff from where he fell.

I lay my head on his hair,smelling the sweat of the day.
I tilt forward in his lead,
as he surely leads the way.Insignificant and frail I feel,
a difference of his strength and me,
the power harbored in his will,
the struggle that sets us free.

His body welcomes me,
I lean into it, shouldering me he tows.
He pulls his hoofs against the stones
his step is strong but slow.

Blending as one in determination
motion of the trial we meet,
sound of his hoofs, his labored breath,
tropical winds bring the heat.

WE finally reach this upward climb,
and once again we are still.
Silent trust, this twosome ride
from the power of his will.

I slide and leave this gallant hero,
with his challenge met.
A euphoric morning, the power of the ride,
the ride I will never forget.

Copyrighted: CMM 1996