Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Peace

It feels satisfaction in being a raindrop.

It lets others talk.


It releases regret like heat in a hot air balloon.

It uses anger only as a way to reproduce itself and survive.

It remembers.

It forgets.


It can hear the clock ticking while it slowly sips tea.

It is a boat on a storm-tossed sea...again.

It awakens.


It is the salmon who knows its way home.

It is the mother who has a change of clothes, a snack and a kiss for her child.

It is the father's protective embrace and the smell of him always there.

It finds itself in its description.

By: Sarah L. Garriott

Monday, April 5, 2010

Facade

Oh, a hair! A white, white hair!

Color it! Cover it! Hear me shout!
Pull it! Yank it! Tear it OUT!

Aging? Never! No not I.
I'm 32 until I die.

Liposuction
Nip and tuck
Eyebrow lifts for just a buck.

Lasar zap that fat away!
Facial contours
Don't delay!

Round that bum
And lift that chest!
Aren't my new lips
Just the best?!

Ah, my skin! It just got clearer...
But, hey, who's that there in my bathroom mirror?

By: Sarah L. Garriott

Lost

Again I looked for you today--there where I thought you would be--and then I remembered that you weren't.

I heard you laughing today, but it was another.

I thought sure you were coming perhaps in time for the holiday or at least by Spring, but something always seems to foul up the plan and, once again, you are delayed in your arrival. Perhaps next year?

The family has been asking about you. I smile and change the subject. I hate to raise false hopes.

I couldn't find my cellular phone the other day; I said a little prayer and magically walked right to it. I can't tell you how many times I've prayed about you and still you are lost to me.

I have called you in every way I know how, but you simply refuse to come in to dinner!

Have you caught the kisses I've been blowing for you? I send them every day.

By: Sarah L. Garriott

Grandmother

For nearly ten long years you have been gone
Yet still in my world you live.

When I pen these words
It is your hands I see writing.
When I speak
It is your voice I so often hear.
When I cry
It is your arms I feel around me.
When I laugh
I know you laugh with me.

I'm glad you are with me, Grandmother, for in my day growing old is something to disdain and to fear. Aging is a disease to be fought with all manner of physical alterations and fervent denial. Women cling to their youth as a child clings to its mother.

But you, Grandmother, have given me a reason to grow old and to glory in it. Educated and eloquent, giving and full of grace, brimming with wisdom and experience I can't envision a more beautiful woman than you are.
Your life's history is recorded in the wrinkles of your skin, in the strands of your soft white curls and in the depths of your eyes.
With rolls of baked goods stored around your middle and age spots on your hands--you have known not only pain and loss, but also joy and abundance.

When I rock my children
I sing with your voice.
When I put them to bed
I pray with your faith.
When I tell them I love them
I feel generations of love.
As I grow old
I am glad of your company.

By: Sarah L. Garriott