Sharing Poems

yoga poetry

Rising

What really counts?

Is it change that

Cashes in unexpected

And leaves me bereft?

Or, fuller than a 10 month

Pregnant mom, where

Ready does not begin

To say the need of need?

Joy comes

Screaming

It’s way into the world.

And the rattle reminds

Us of a beginning

At the end. I choose

To focus on light.

Sucked into

A vortex of wind

That plasters day

With darkness as if

Captured in a tornado’s

Eye I see

My center in the torch

That lights

This labyrinth

Of bills and jobs,

Illness and care,

Hope and loss,

As if meaning could

Ever be measured…

We hold ourselves

To the tick of time,

Distinguishing

Between beginnings

And endings when

It’s all right

Here, where I sit,

In the middle of my

Sofa on a Saturday night,

Pondering the pause

As birthdays

Come and go to celebrate

What we cannot remember

But live trying to forget:

That initial imprint

Is not the spark of love

But loss, as we move

Into form

To find in any moment

What we couldn’t know

Can let us go,

As rise into

The unknowing that knows.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

8/17/2012

Thick as mud,

Heavy as granite,
Stiller than death,
I cannot lift a leg
Or unpack ease
Like a child
Does naturally.
I sit long.
I blink.
I breathe.
I want to reach
For anything,
At all, yet the air
Does no even
Hold the promise
Of wind or breeze.
Sadness nestles
Into my heart
Like a kitten
Burrowing into
A blanket for comfort.
There is comfort
For the tears release
What I no longer hold,
Fear sheds layers
Like a dog sheds his coat
And I know there’s
Nothing to hold,
Nothing to let go.
There’s now,
Not tomorrow.
There’s hope,
Not betrayal.
There’s knowing
I never know
More than the
Heart beat or
Inhale and exhale.
No guarantees.
I tuck in my care
As if it were a baby,
Swaddled in a quilt
Resting its head on
My breast and forget.
Maybe tonight
The moon will tease
Me into joy but until
Then I’ll draw the blinds
And light a candle
And cover my darkness
In shadows so the flame
I know can know its glow.

Edith Lazenby Trilling
8/16/2012

Patterns of hope in flowerbeds

Where leaves support petals,

Soil supports roots, sun and rain

Breathe their life into life.

I breathe life in with my heart.

I stand under a tree and look up.

Shadows move out of light.

I know the moon will join soon.

I move out of my light, into shadow.

This space talks to me when none

Seem to listen or see how I am.

My roots rest above ground

In my finger tips and my petals

Rest in my pupils and ears.

My feet become the earth and

Sun and rain are rare here.

Yet much grows in the dark

Where we cannot see how feeling

Turns on the wind and lands

Below my navel and a heat starts

To move deep inside and climb

Like ivy up my spine and wrap

Itself around my head as if I were

A brick wall stopping nothing.

Sometimes, when there are no stars

And the black sky is layered in clouds

I begin to find a clarity born in not knowing.

I take my need and tuck it between my breasts

So it can remember to nurture what I cannot.

I don’t try anymore. I gave up. I do or I don’t.

Ease comes as I learn I can only hide from me.

Others see what they see. In my spare time I pull weeds.

Not because I dislike them but they’re so much,

Like me. Quiet comes and cuts peace like a switchblade.

What I hear I cannot say yet the music is a piano

And flute that invites me to be. A knife can cut to kill

Or carve to heal. I am not sure what I’ve killed.

I want the steadiness of a surgeon who knows.

And yet my insides have a tremor I don’t show.

Only a few know. I’ve failed so often at so much.

Having to leave always takes me back here,

To a muse that does not judge, to a place

That lives whether there is rain or sun,

Light or shadow, sadness or joy, where I don’t

Have to apologize or hide, where the buds

That blossom from my bosom bear fruit,

Where discovery settles answers into questions,

And nothing leaves me marked or untouched,

While grace deepens giving all, asking nothing.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

8/11/2012

A  Love Poem, for Michael

I want to rock your heart in mine.

I want to plant my palms like buds

By your side so your desires blossom.

I feel the moon like I feel you: constant,

Present, forever changing, ebbing and flowing.

The tides that move me pulse in your eyes.

A flower finds the sun like I seek your shade.

My roots grow into your belly button.

My branches reach beyond into unknowing.

Your wind lets me breathe and dance.

The sun of your touch warms my feet

So every step finds what it needs.

I want to paint your dreams as we sleep.

My wishes wash themselves in your hands.

I hold my life in your horizon, clouds float,

Rainbows make an arc in the sky and somehow

I realize marriage can be made in heaven

When love sparkles on the rim of earth

Where we share now and then, here and there,

Over and over, as each moment is but a beginning.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

8/5/2012

Once and Again…

Light shimmies up on wings

And my sparkle comes alive.

Like the morning butterfly

With yellow and black wings

I fly on a wind soothing now

Until I forget to remember

And remember to forget.

I plant my need like a seed.

Now truths can grow, blossom,

Attract bees and spread around

On a wind I want to know.

Loss stops stalking me.

Anger quiets. Calm talks.

I take my bare feet on ground,

Cool grass massages, toes tingle,

Stepping comes easy, fear drops

From eyes into my palm and I give

It my heart that grows a lung

So now what hurts can breathe.

I balance this moment to the next,

With the grace of a toddler who falls

To walk, determined to learn.

Survival finds new meaning.

I begin to believe I cannot die,

Only change, from unknown to known.

Substance does not need form.

The picture is complete without a frame.

I take a canvas. I think of trees.

I draw a child. I see a dog.

I add the moon. I feel a breeze.

I make streaks of indigo and navy.

I brew chamomile tea.

I think of mom. I add lightening.

I see a photo: my parents.

I add a meadow, I paint the perfect

Tree. I hear a cat and add an eagle.

Mom said she’d come back as a tree.

Dad said he’d come back as an eagle.

I think I am learning

What it means to be alive.

I don’t have to hide.

All I am rises like the sun,

Lets the inside out and

The outside in, and begins, to begin…

Edith Lazenby Trilling

7/30/2012

Poem

Relief comes in iced mint tea

And the purr of my kitty,

A good meal and understanding

That blossoms in my heart

When your care comes clothed

In a call offering me the lapis

In your eyes I feel but cannot see

As healing hovers over my heart

When you listen to how my words

Fall out like one hundred monkeys

That cannot find one tree to climb

So they leap and screech and scratch

And what I have been spinning like

A twirling baton taps a peace as it lands

On the rubber end and bounces back

In my hand so I can hold what I know

Without the jungle of anger that roars

In my mind because I cannot let go

Of this burning fire that moves

Beyond the flames of my heart

And yet your kindness washes me

In the lull of moon, softens my insides

Until breath comes with ease, dreams

Seem possible and I remember compassion

Is the best revenge, as if that were the point,

As you direct me to the space between

Care and indifference, love and hate,

As I lean to your light, a sunflower in the sun,

Able to bloom, knowing your knowing

Is the alchemist’s touchstone, a nugget of gold.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

7/29/2012

Poem

I found sunlight tonight.
It grew from my toes out
Of my head and held its light
Like a magenta orchid holds
Its bloom. I wanted you to know.
I wanted you to know what grows
In the dark are seeds that sprout
My need beyond the layers I shed.
I want you know a baby’s calm
In the flow of water, the gentle
Hands that move the infant,
Pliable as dough and fragile
With vulnerability, rocking new life
To bliss and ease I want to know.
I want you to know my ease comes
In waves that lull me like the sea.
There are storms. The tides remain
Strong and powerful and yet I grow.
I want you to know. I want you to know
Loss nags me because I could not listen
When it spoke and now when it comes
The voice is like nails on a mirror.
I want you to know. I want you to know
My mirrors distorted so much for so long
That now what I see looks strange to me.
I want you to know. I want you to know
The seeds you plant run behind my heart,
To the heart behind the heart that beats
When I feel beat, that feels when I cannot
That lets me breathe when I am in a vacuum.
I want you know. I want you to know what I know,
And I know I don’t know much but I know you know.
The moon beckons the sun and the sun the moon,
Like begets like and opposites attract.
But this you know: paradox is not a riddle
And meaning is not always kind. You know.
I want to know what you know. I trust your words
With my heart and trust my heart with these words.
This we know. All I know comes to these moments,
And I do what I do till I don’t.  This is what I know.

Edith Lazenby Trilling
7/252012

Poem

I know I am bad.
I kill plants.
I killed my goldfish and
Two gerbils….have eaten
Many pigs and cows and chickens.
I think I am chicken.
I have never been popular,
Like by some, loved by a few.
I take loved ones and smother
Them with need prickly as a rose bush.
I think it’s the scent I offer
Or softness of petals, hope of seed.
Instead what I offer scratches
Till who I love bleeds.
My words come out and shred
A moment until a nothing breathes.
I slice intention as if it were a cucumber.
Attention gets peeled like a skin so
What’s inside pushes me away
Because there is nowhere to hide.
And then I crawl into the cave of my heart
And look for light in the shadows.
I want to sing and dance and share
But instead words stomp, hands hold
Air and movement freezes my feet.
Then I stand in place because I have no
Roots and if a wind came I’d fall to the earth
And no one would know cause I am alone.
But I know you know what I mean.
Worth cannot be measured with rulers
Or figures and compassion has no horizon.
When I look at the sky I don’t see an end
But a series of beginnings, a fullness I want to hold,
Yet I sit under a tree like a weed praying to flower
When I have no bud, knowing grace does not
Discriminate, knowing my intensity can settle
With the moon and rise like the sun, knowing
It’s a blessing to embrace how I hurt as I learn
To make compost of what does not work
To feed the herbs in my garden, and use
My hands to dig into the dirt as I toss the rocks
Where no one stands and shed the layers
Into a refined sense as I learn to understand.

Edith Lazenby Trilling
7/25.2012

Poem

Maybe I can find kindness,
The purr of my kitty,
Comfort of moon shadow,
The sweet smell of wet grass
And freshness of spearmint.
There’s always more.
But sometime I cannot absorb
What’s given, I run like a car
With a flat tire, making noise,
Not quite arriving, anywhere.
Everyone hears the noise coming.
Some look with pity, others awe.
I just put one foot on the floor
At a time, easing into movement.
Nothing is moving. Feelings go splat
Like a bird that flies blindly into a window.
I want to bury the body. I want to take
Its wings and glue them to my heart.
I want to fly as if I were free.
I want to remember the blessings
Of knowing without the curse.
I think I am broken. I am like a toaster
With live wires that cannot drop
The bread deep enough to make difference.
I try to plug into here and now.
It’s sticky though, honey in my ears,
Cotton candy residue on my fingertips.
It all seems sweet but it isn’t.
I return to the moon tonight,
Not sure if she waxes or wanes
But I know she’s all there, even if
All I can see is a crescent with shadows.
There are no stars.
It fits my heart that holds no light.
Maybe my dreams will answer me.
I want to ask the universe for guidance.
I don’t need answers and I don’t have questions.
Relief may be a movie. Relief may be fresh
Bread topped with bruschetta and iced tea.
Relief may be me letting go of who I think I am.
Relief could be in being but unlike the moon
And grass it is not natural. I don’t know how.
When life slices me with a blade I don’t even bleed.
I just retreat to a space I am finding in each breath.
I reach in to massage the dark mass that is my heart,
To pump the numbness out. I seek meaning
But what I find are swinging doors
With no exits, no entrances, just stuck
In a maze of corridors without signs.
One alchemist said you have to look out
To look in, yet if I don’t see what it’s front
Or behind how can I find the joy Inside?

Edith Lazenby Trilling
7/24/2012

Poem

Blackberry lily holds details while geese walk.

Impatiens model virtue with simplicity

As a pond lends perspective to space.

I gather the light looking up through the trees,

Limbs shielding an intensity no one needs.

I aim for kindness in fresh bread, ripe peaches.

Mint takes over my front garden as I pull up

Wild grass that works like a weed.

I hung weeds in my kitchen to dry, thinking

Them herbs…tickled my tummy and shows

My thumb is more purple than green.

My kitties bring comfort in their need.

I try to comfort my needs with yoga,

Iced tea, morning walks, simple talks.

Sometimes intention gets buried under a totem

That wears ravens and wolves and eagles.

Fierceness has a time and place.

What I try to give bounces back off my heart.

Understanding gives more than it takes,

And can be angry like a child or tender as a pup.

Crying comes easily, without reason.

I think I’ll keep walking. I think I’ll keep crying.

I think I’ll keep trying to understand even

When I don’t. My respect for deer and geese grow.

They lost their homes and thrive anyway,

Blindly going where they need to go.

Sometimes not seeing where I am going

Helps, because then fear’s anxiety does not prick me,

And before I can light a candle or shrug my shoulders,

I’m here, where the light is soft and air is cool,

Where meaning unfolds, a mudra of hope, a prayer.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

7/19/2012

Poem

I had my meanness ripped out,

Like taking a plant at the stem

And yanking it from the earth,

Or more, being a wriggling

Fish, nailed to a tree, to be gutted.

I earned it though. My limbs

Were like a rose plants, full of thorns

And my belly held a burning fire.

Now I take salt and rosemary

And rub my surfaces in the shower

While drinking iced mint tea

To ease the flames that make me, me.

I used to rant in righteousness.

Then I crumbled and cried at night.

But I am adjusting to this sense of ease.

I don’t need to rant when I’m not right.

I don’t need to cry for something gained.

There was a loss, like the snake that sheds

A skin to survive, I shed this pain that leads

Me to a ledge I have walked this life.

But it is my ledge, and the edge time grew

Has softened, slowly, so I can see above

As well as below, the deep valley, the tall

Mountains, the sun in the sky, grass at my feet.

I begin to yearn for meadows of cattails

With the occasional willow tree, something

That can flow and bend in the breeze and offer

A space to hide, shade from the heat, dandelions

Whose feathers dance in the wind, a way to die.

Dying does not seem easy when I am fully alive.

Yet I know something left, like when the breath

Is knocked out of you and you gasp for the next one.

But then it comes….and the ease returns, steady heart

Beat and what I realized does not have to hurt as much

Because change is always, and I am able, and willing,

Planting new roots, I gave up eating meat and fish

Make me sick. Instead I walk every morning.

Today the geese were nowhere to be seen.

Today I baked pumpernickel bread and watched a movie.

Today I can help free those memories that held

An angry devil in my words and deeds, today I have

A chance to be and share without pulling a blade

To defend against something and someone no longer there.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

7/18/2012

Metamorphosis

The cocoon of feelings

Holds me tight,

The dark feels light.

This chrysalis in being

Layers my life, leaf

By leaf, like pages

In a book that tell

A story the truth cannot

For metaphor stretches

Meaning so we can all relate

Having relations, family

Or the need of it brings blessings

And curses, birthdays

And holidays draw us together

As if a special day created closeness,

As if the celebration fed the need.

I like candles. I like cake,

I love to get gifts, and give them too.

I find this getting older ok

But still able to dance on the floor

Of middle age…ignorance is bliss

They say so knowing isn’t? All I know

Is my skin gets tougher on the outside

While me heart grows softer on the inside.

I am grateful when I can cry, the ease

Of letting go, the comfort of sobbing

If only in a pillow or with a purring cat,

Knowing moon gives me a strength

I sometimes fake, showing one side

While the other hides, waxing and waning

Among the night shadows, reaching for

A star or Venus, some light to focus

On when I no longer can, when care

Edges inward, when the caterpillar curled

In its womb loses its beat, heart stops,

And the blossom of wings hangs on a limb

Until it drops to the earth, what could have been.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

7/17/2012

A Rant

Endings and beginnings have a lot in common.

It’s too early for the geese and the moon is high.

Tonight I wrote the only wings now belong

To a pinned butterfly who cannot die, adding,

The song of a winged pinned butterfly can fly,

If only in my ears’ eyes…the distant flutter

Of struggle on my wet lashes, the whip of wakefulness

Stripping awareness off surfaces, past fascia,

Pulling muscle away so my bones can quake

And in place of a heart trying to peel layers

Away to find that missing piece, that something

That somewhere along line got skewed.

If only I can find it. I know it’s hiding. The chrysalis

Of healing is teasing the moment as again

I begin to go backwards, remembering to walk

So I can crawl, remember to crawl so I can roll,

Remember to roll so I can lay flat, remembering

To lay flat on my back so I can learn again to lift

My head, hold it steady and high and look at what

Is looking at me right in the eye, and make the only

Face I have smile with pride then scream with fear

When what needed to be near never was and still

Today I call and squirm and wish for what never was

So what has been would not have to be but then

Living in conditional takes me away from here and now

And maybe that is the point because right now I am

Like that butterfly for science because I want to see, study,

Understand when I already do because the truth is

Even in death I’ll sing, even when dying I’ll reach

For the comfort of image and lyric and know the light

Will humor my need as I dissolve my sleep into a talking

Dream and wait for sunrise while I bake more bread

And listen for the rattle that will let me know I can let go,

Even if only for this moment, this night, those wings,

Need baptizing the dying seems more necessary than

Blessing the newborn who can only go forward and learn,

Unable to fall back on the knowings of earthly time,

I think I might like a plot rather than an oven, somehow

Tonight the comfort of earth and worms feels familiar

And God knows I’ve lived enough fire for one life.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

7/17/2012

Finding Flight

The geese were on the pond today,

Floating and quiet.

The sun was warm but not too high.

I tried to smell the grass

On my suburban jaunt, past homes,

On roads with cars, seeing

Dogs on leashes and those birds

Were as wild as it got.

Life tames me, each pelt of pain

Brings me closer to me,

So I begin to see what I am, in mine

And other’s eyes and the past

Starts taking steps, inhale

What happened, exhale, it’s over

But it’s not really, is it?

We make the same mistakes until

One day, one moment,

By chance or accident, we learn.

I’m learning imprint

Leaves its mark in voice, tone,

Attitude, choice, and like

A tree bent and torn by nature,

So too my nature spent years digging

Down into the earth, years crawling

On my belly like a worm, hours

Pruning the roots, finding patterns,

Etching the differences in leaves,

Why some seemed full and others not.

Why some trees don’t break in storms

And how in California they twist and turn

And the one out my window when a child

Had a shadow to caress my bed, held

Up with wires on all sides, its hand reached

To me and every night its comfort

Lulled me to sleep and the moon there,

Held me until I broke and then the shadows

Weren’t so comforting, reason

Walked with broken limbs, need became

A confusing idea yet the moon never left.

Today I don’t break. My roots get pulled.

I get back on my belly sometimes,

Roll in the dirt like a happy pig just happy

To roll and know I don’t need reason

And reason does need to know its needs

Because I crack inside, and just when I think

I’ve had enough I am reminded there’s always more,

So tomorrow I’ll go back to the geese

Who bring a comfort trees cannot because

Geese stick together and have wings and

With each fragment shattering, there’s

A piece of me that grows wings.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

7/16/2012

Poem

Magician’s and I have a lot in common.

I cannot pull rabbits out of hats

And though my mind is quick

Those hands are quicker than my eye.

What I do is hide in plain sight.

I don’t expect to be seen…though

I chatter and laugh and share latte’s

With various friends, write poems

And essays, talk on the phone, send texts,

I keep reaching for something that is not.

Visibility is not a matter of flesh and bone.

I can walk a walk and talk a talk.

The sun is clear but the moon is closer

Because there’s always something

We can never see yet she is brave enough

To let us know how she hides. I am trying.

The veil I have is crocheted with lace.

The holes are a clue. I wrap it around my neck.

Maybe folk will know it’s not really connected,

My head is on my shoulders, like a loose boulder.

We see what we want when we want.

Grief asks me to be discrete, like the secrets

I know of other’s shames shared in quiet.

Shame remains a mystery to me. I can tell all

And show nothing.  I am not modest in most regards,

But god might hear me if I voiced a need.

Loneliness wears many hats and changing masks.

I think tomorrow I’ll go for walk to visit the geese.

Maybe if I move just right they’ll see, and let me be.

I’ll have to leave before my neighbors rise.

Being takes practice, and I want to start slow.

Already I feel the moon’s voice speaking the language

I know, because I never need to see her to know.

And yet the yearning to be seen buries my heart

One inch beyond the horizon, where none can reach.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

7/15/2012

Poem

A flutter comes,

Eyes blinking,

Thoughts pause

Like a bee on rose,

And I forget to remember

Purpose needs no line

Or hook when fishing

Because it has the sea

And moon holding all.

That flashing fish

Grabbed my heart

Because I saw and felt

A moment created

As if it were here, now.

The enigma of meaning

Sheds many tears for

Who doesn’t want

To understand the magic

Of why or the fullness of how?

Questions chisel answers

Into paragraphs for a point.

I am freed by what I don’t know

And tied by what I do.

I inch closer and closer

To an edge that creeps

Away like perspectives

That vanish into a horizon

I can never touch or know.

It is what it is.

I water the plants.

I make cornbread.

I cuddle with my kitties.

I don’t need the tree or bud.

I collect seeds in many ways.

Some are colors, like red.

Some are words like salt.

Some are images like moon.

Some are smells like cinnamon.

My garden is full of weeds

And spearmint. I am not sure

I lack anything. My faith

Lives in my heart. Sometimes

It sings. Sometimes it bleeds.

Sometimes it needs.

Edith Lazenby Trilling, 7/8/2012

Poem

Time sits, a weeping willow

With arms and hands enough

To dry each tear with the wind’s

Help, sun’s embrace and the reminder

Of a horizon that promises tomorrow.

I climbed Grandfather Mountain at camp.

I swam in a lake with water clean as rain.

I rode horses as if I had no fear when I did.

Then birthdays began stacking up, many

Candles planted, cake eaten, joy shared,

And yet the innocence I feel betrays age.

All I know melts like wax and loses light.

They say we grow tougher with time

But truth is I get more tender where it counts,

Inside the heart of grace that asks nothing

And gives all, I find a lace glove for my left

Hand that cannot do much and needs help

Of my right that grew up swinging and fisted

And has scars under the nails that guard

The tips that touch all and feel too much.

At least one side stayed soft no matter what.

Now the right is like the hand of a cripple

That cannot hold on to what it knows yet

Cannot find how to reach for what it doesn’t.

Instead, it goes to what it knows: my heart

Wasn’t always strong but the right made it

So, even when wrong, because it is in the learning

Layers are shed, and what was clenched for

Fear of losing realizes it was lost long ago

But can you lose what you have if it is in you?

Respect was like that. I did not know it was not

Mine until I found out I never had it…then like

A butterfly it flew freely and I understood.

I never wanted to hurt, myself or anyone else.

I just did not know how not to because that

Is what I knew: love wears many masks before

We can make a totem from the hidden faces

And dancing spirits until one day I woke

And learned all I know and all I don’t know

Aren’t all that different: I am the same and different

Every time, until my eye that sees and my heart

That needs finally meet and make peace.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

7/4/2012

Poem

The mirror melts

Before my eyes

As my mind won’t

Hold what it shows

Though my heart knows.

Truths creep like ivy

Or land like lightening

Until what is, strips me

Of image and thought

And I stand naked.

Value comes in the gentle

Way a spider climbs or in

The grace of a kitten’s need

As he kneads and mews his way

Into a place his mom once held.

I’ve watched the moon

Since I can remember.

There’s a sense she sees

What I cannot, waxing and waning,

Holding her space in cloud or storm,

Only showing what we can see.

I am forced to face what

Is clear as the sun though

I seek the silence of what

The moon’s shadow knows;

Her darkness safe from my eyes.

Friends can be that true, or not,

Tracing the mirror before it melts,

Staring from the refraction

Of so long ago, walking across campus,

Guided by the moon and transplanted

Beyond night above or grass below

Into a trance that confessed

A shame I knew, finding a piece I cannot toss.

It is the heat to the sun,

The magnetism of moon: it’s a fire

I did not know until told in many ways

How it harms when I don’t feel the flames,

Until finally my blindness sees beyond

Denial and I uncover a kindness

Lost to a blade that maimed.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

7/3/2012

Poem

Softness enters

Like a piece of down

On my eyelashes,

And my heart

Opens a tad more

And my kidneys breathe

And my being forgets

It needs to need.

The sun is out.

I am free.

I have choices.

I have type 3 diabetes

It seems, and fear

Does its dance on my knees.

Forgetting to forget,

That’s a problem

Because you lose meaning

In lack of sequence.

There are always beginnings

And endings, but the middle

Is murky with all its shades

Of likes and dislikes, good

And bad but that’s just it:

It’s all experience, Insight

Is keen like a bud bursting

Yet if I miss the perfume,

What good does it do?

The kittens know how to live,

Resting when tired, eating hungry,

Playing games of cat and mouse

Without the mouse.

The details don’t always matter.

Mom finds comfort in clouds.

They demand nothing

But her imagination, an aspect

Of mind she has not lost.

She won’t bathe, often.

But she had wit to tell

Me with a straight face

She is allergic to water.

Loss needs no masks, no tears.

Loss only asks me to rock

It like the child I miss,

And sing the lullabye I never heard.

I never gave birth. But God knows

How I miss my baby, and someday,

In another life maybe, she’ll hold

Me and smile for the joy I lost

Is something I can give.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

6/19/2012

Poem

Lime freshens tap water

Yet in the stream I hear

The song I knew at camp:

Taps hums in my memory.

Belonging never worked,

Back then, so young, eager

To please, feeling a difference,

Not much has changed though

Age baits me at 53 and I know

Better than to believe it matters.

I like lattes. Sugar short-circuits

My brain and like my mother

With dementia, I am blank.

I wonder what it’s like, only

A history holding meaning

In place when it lost it long ago.

Depression crept at her heart

For a life time, happiness comes

At 5pm with vodka, lemon, ice.

My earrings are so pretty, she

Repeats over and over because

Each time is the first time.

I’d like to repeat a few things.

The joy of a kitten, the anticipation

Of seeing my last love like the first,

I find comfort in my husband’s hands

That hold my heart as if it could break.

He knows better though. What’s

Been shattered might crack or bleed,

My heart is strong enough for pain

But it runs under a curtain when

The sun shines or moon glows.

Fear’s theme grows with me.

The grip I have loosens in moments

And then, I feel raw from the slipping.

When I was a kid snow skiing I walked

Up the bunny hill because that tow rope

Would not pull me if I hung on.

Flow is natural if you can flow.

I don’t flow. I am a run on sentence

Without a subject and lots of semicolons.

I pause. But I never stop. If I did I don’t

Know what would appear, if anything.

I stick to my pleasing and my difference

Because it gives me what I don’t have:

A sense of belonging somewhere

Where I don’t have to manipulate need.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

6/17/2012

Poem

Being in versus out,

Not like a bud to bloom

Or seed to root,

No, this is more like green

Of grass tickling feet,

The softness of petals,

The wholeness of moon

That suggests fullness

Even in the shadows,

The rock of waves

Before they break

That hint of a cradle

I don’t think I knew.

The warmth of sand,

Massaging my soles,

The life of a tree

Whispering time’s secrets

In limb and leaf, brush

Of breeze across my cheek,

Caress of light in my heart

That rises with each breath

Calming a tide I am afraid to meet.

Being in my body, beyond

Thought and meaning, loving

What is because grace needs

No reason, asks for nothing

And plants prayers in open hands

As I listen to quiet of cat paws

And chamomile tea, easing into

What I don’t know by knowing

The heart cannot lie and feeling

Only asks to feel, leaving me

To wonder why I run in any direction

When what comes up only gives

Me more me, understanding fear’s

Roots are embedded in a place

So deep I cannot see the light

In the darkness though I hear

The ebb and flow and pulse

Of a flame whose heat takes

Me into a space that grazes my skin,

What burns most is a terror

That’s kept me going while freezing

The air I cannot escape, I light

The fire for warmth, even in summer,

As the petals drop, the tea is gone,

The trees hold my strength

As I dig down hoping to find

A peace that won’t lose me

As I crawl out with an ember

That won’t stop glowing

With a memory I feed

That needs me to fuel my self

From the inside out, letting go

Into here and again, because

Now always counts, even when

I forget what matters cannot be framed,

Or held in the notes of a harp, or on the wings

Of a hawk, but is precious as breath,

Free as a dolphin playing in the sea,

What matters cannot be taken,

But like a gift of caring, holds eternity.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

6/17/2012

Poem on Change

Change comes on hands and knees.

Change licks the corners.

Change pulls my hair, pinches my thighs.

Change taunts thought into a mantra

Where meaning loses meaning.

Change begs me to find my feet.

Change turns my head to the sun.

Change says: Be Strong. Find heart.

Change makes water holy.

Change accepts need and grows will.

Change is spearmint everywhere.

Change is the television turned off.

Change is silence on the highway.

Change is focus. Change is now.

Change defines change by change.

Change is using my heart for thinking.

Change is a clear head, fresh eyes.

Change is the moon. Change is the bud.

Change is birth. Change is death.

Change is finding fears I can face.

Change is knowing change knows.

Change does not hesitate.

Change takes now as now.

Change lets go of change.

Change is a Zen koan.

Change is noisy. Change is quiet.

Change is the fullness of being

Found on the edges of time.

Change is everything.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

6/14/2012

Poem

The shadows are coming down.

I see the head on an eagle and

Want its wings to carry me.

Instead I am the rodent in its claws,

Trying to free myself before finding

The weight of its jaws. A butterfly flutters.

I recall the caterpillar, crawling and eating

Its way into a womb before change takes

Form and all it knew is a history recognized.

I want to change history’s cycle in my life

Of ups and downs, I want to eat meaning

Into a chrysalis so who I am can die and I

Can fly. I want to shave my head, tattoo my toes

With 5-lettered words so angst and anger

Stays above the sole and my feet feel the green.

I want to live like my cats, 9 lives and present

For each one. When sad I want to cry and when

Pissed off I want to scream, instead of going

Under the curtain of a talking head, body

Lost in a rhetoric that begs every question

And finds no answers. I want to remember

This moment as if it were the last, or first.

I want to know death’s promise beyond belief

Of unfolding lights. I want to give birth.

I want to feather my fingers and paint my nails

Indigo and let the fan of a peacock grow

Out of my tongue. I want desire to take me

To an edge that won’t cut or burn but just

Allow me to see like an owl: 360 degrees.

Wisdom is like a flame that makes its own wick.

The moon sits on my nose. Stars hang like blessings.

I want to see a rainbow that glows in the dark.

My treasure dreams of a peace I’ve yet to meet.

Come with me. Climb the trees to the top and sing.

Let me know you know what I know and still love.

Grown ups walk around in the diapers of obligations.

Children run and play because they need no reason.

I am trying to find one that won’t define anything.

I live to love and love to live and yet, why do I feel

Like I am dying? I gasp for air. I listen to silence.

I settle down in a corner and pull a blanket around

My shoulders because now you know all I know:

Life isn’t a struggle. Letting go is easy as the alphabet.

Yet even though I can sing my A, B, C’s where I rest

My hope is in the mystery of a heart that laughs

To cry and cries to laugh. The shadows rise up

And dance on the walls. I begin to name them

As if now were the beginning and the apple

Were the gift that gave us the garden.  Instead

I court the serpent because she knew before anyone:

No one gets out. The universe contains all.

I am just a bud that dances on its nature

In order to bloom into a being that’s held

In a breeze, bathed by the rains and raised

In daylight. And yet, I like the shadows because

Then the invisible takes form and I find I am

I am never alone in the dark and quiet.

I don’t need to speak. I don’t need to write.

All I need is a backdrop for voice, a canvas

For image, a heartbeat for a drum, and hope

To put me to bed so I can release all I am

Into a well of dreams where I can breathe.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

6/12/2012

Poem

I want to make him a garland

Of light, package the moon

In a candle so he’d find its

Comfort when all is blackness.

I want to take his hand and put

My heart in his palm so he’d feel

Its love every minute of every day.

I want to gather sunrise in a bouquet

And set it on his pillow, so soft petals

And gentle colors will flower his dreams.

I want to take the heaviness in his eyes,

Turn his lashes to butterfly wings

That take all he sees into summer and spring.

I want to baptize hope in a kiss, and embrace

His being in a faith strong as a the pulse

That brings spirits to earth, newborn’s crying.

I want to give him what he needs to find

A space where like a sunflower he can grow,

Lean into what nourishes, absorb earth and rain,

Storms and sunshine, and create a peace

Where he knows all he needs waits inside

So when he is ready to burst up from the ground,

He’ll stand tall as a redwood in knowing

Nothing can stand in the way, life’s promise

Of bliss a bloom of his heart, when fear sheds

Fear and anxiety etches into his nails he’ll remember

The moment of my heart in his hand, the candle

Of moon flickering with the breeze and dreams

So beautiful he won’t need to bottle what aches

As butterfly wings tickle the pain away from that

Womb we all know, untying the knots, letting

It all go until able to drop down deep in a self

That looks at life’s mirrors as means to grow.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

6/10/2012

Lighting the Shadow

Feeling traces edges of sun,

Burns into a space I meet

With tears and sighs

As the signs say,

We cannot all be liked

Though we hope, and try.

The oregano dried up in the pot.

I drowned the basil and lavender

Leaves took summer for fall.

I fall often. Getting up is hard

When the sun is high.

The bed is soft and the kittens

Mew me into a cuddle of purrs and fur.

The burn turns into a shine, what’s raw

Draws help in and keeps germs out.

The germ of dislike is a seed that’s known

How to grow my whole life, never quite

Enough, and not knowing what it would be like.

Oh the clouds go by. I cherish the moon.

Sun rises and falls. Grass grows.

Surprise continues. My roots

Get pulled so far what cries for light

Cannot find ground. I push and pull and find

My way like a sunflower leans

Into what feeds but know like

Every child learns, a mother’s love has horns

That poke behind the halo, when need fumes

And desire flutters like a hummingbird’s wings.

What do I do? Take the moment this is and let

The hurts flow for one blow need not evoke

What memory knows: rather, let the bloom

Of my heart plant another seed.

Next time I won’t need to dig to remember

Love’s light only asks to grow.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

6/6/2012

An Invitation

Lime freshens tap water

Yet in the stream I hear

The song I knew at camp:

Taps hums in my memory.

Belonging never worked,

Back then, so young, eager

To please, feeling a difference,

Not much has changed though

Age baits me at 53 and I know

Better than to believe it matters.

I like lattes. Sugar short-circuits

My brain and like my mother

With dementia, I am blank.

I wonder what it’s like, only

A history holding meaning

In place when it lost it long ago.

Depression crept at her heart

For a life time, happiness comes

At 5pm with vodka, lemon, ice.

My earrings are so pretty, she

Repeats over and over because

Each time is the first time.

I’d like to repeat a few things.

The joy of a kitten, the anticipation

Of seeing my last love like the first,

I find comfort in my husband’s hands

That hold my heart as if it could break.

He knows better though. What’s

Been shattered might crack or bleed,

My heart is strong enough for pain

But it runs under a curtain when

The sun shines or moon glows.

Fear’s theme grows with me.

The grip I have loosens in moments

And then, I feel raw from the slipping.

When I was a kid snow skiing I walked

Up the bunny hill because that tow rope

Would not pull me if I hung on.

Flow is natural if you can flow.

I don’t flow. I am a run on sentence

Without a subject and lots of semicolons.

I pause. But I never stop. If I did I don’t

Know what would appear, if anything.

I stick to my pleasing and my difference

Because it gives me what I don’t have:

A sense of belonging somewhere

Where I don’t have to manipulate need.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

6/17/2012

Poem

A seed comes, blossom of light

Eases into my heart, sets a table,

Flowers and lavender, strawberries

And oranges, salad and cucumbers.

I smile. Excitement brews

In my fingertips as I tap time

On my keys with a beat that sings

Meaning from stories I live to tell.

Once upon a time always sounds

Fine but presumes a beginning

And end when I cry to live where

Nothing ends because now is always.

Shiva dances today. If you went

Back to Saturday he was still dancing

And if you go next Thursday he’s still

Dancing. I take the invitation. Oh, my

Booty doesn’t boogie well as I try

Zumba and work the rhythm as best

As I can yet my hips can shimmy

To a tune the moon plays each night

Even though nothing moves.

My mind leaps, my stomach

Does the bump with my diaphram,

And my toes engage each other

In a jitterbug to my dreams,

Dancing my soles out of my shoes

And onto the midnight grass

When suddenly I know knowing

Is not all it seems. Answers

Lie in not knowing, in the willingness

To close my eyes and trust what I believe

Will rise as if anyone could come out

Of death. Many claim Jesus did,

And maybe, just maybe one day we’ll

Know the messenger is not held

On a cross or in a religion or in the myth

Men make to ease fear and suffering,

Maybe we’ll know faith does not need

A package or a frame but the hope of a child,

A need so honest that lives by

Looking at every moment

To give what cannot be taken:

Love’s light leads to more light,

As the moon baptizes every night,

Even when we cannot see its halo

In a cloudy bleak night, we know

Because once seen, like love felt

Under shadows of fear, its seeds

Find meaning as roots grow.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

6/3/2012

I am shifting

Though I feel stillness

Eeking up from inside.

It is heavy

With pot roast and potatoes,

Coffee and cookies.

I imagine the pond

Dark as night but with promise

Of life if I go deep enough.

I toss a piece of concrete

In and feel it go down deep

Through the murky

Water into the mud and under

I see a panorama of light,

As if the sea held it up

With colored fish and dancing

Plants, crawling with shellfish.

I close my eyes and jump

In as if I were a cannon ball

Leaping off a high dive at 8 years old.

When I land I open like a flower

And what drops gives bloom

To a lotus that is my heart.

Today is my birthday.

I remember a skewed moment

When my mind was fragmented

And darkness held it in the awe

Of chaos and confusion but even

Then there was clarity: the walls

Of my mother’s birth canal

Held me until I could breathe.

Relief then came in moments

Of knowing even delusion

Holds shells of truth.

Now my shell feels porous

As if the membrane that is my skin

Had millions of tiny holes

That allowed the outside to seep

In and the inside to ooze out.

Somewhere between is balance.

I repeat over and over:

I am free. I am free. I am free.

Truth is I simply want to be.

Cuffed with fear, I shake my wrists

To find the key, for the answers

Are held somewhere behind my eyes

And as I rattle against these restraints

All I know becomes something I don’t

And what I don’t know plants seeds

That need my love to grow, like a child

That craves the embrace to show

Her she is whole, and never alone.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

6/1/2012

Sweetness

I am shifting

Though I feel stillness

Eeking up from inside.

It is heavy

With pot roast and potatoes,

Coffee and cookies.

I imagine the pond

Dark as night but with promise

Of life if I go deep enough.

I toss a piece of concrete

In and feel it go down deep

Through the murky

Water into the mud and under

I see a panorama of light,

As if the sea held it up

With colored fish and dancing

Plants, crawling with shellfish.

I close my eyes and jump

In as if I were a cannon ball

Leaping off a high dive at 8 years old.

When I land I open like a flower

And what drops gives bloom

To a lotus that is my heart.

Today is my birthday.

I remember a skewed moment

When my mind was fragmented

And darkness held it in the awe

Of chaos and confusion but even

Then there was clarity: the walls

Of my mother’s birth canal

Held me until I could breathe.

Relief then came in moments

Of knowing even delusion

Holds shells of truth.

Now my shell feels porous

As if the membrane that is my skin

Had millions of tiny holes

That allowed the outside to seep

In and the inside to ooze out.

Somewhere between is balance.

I repeat over and over:

I am free. I am free. I am free.

Truth is I simply want to be.

Cuffed with fear, I shake my wrists

To find the key, for the answers

Are held somewhere behind my eyes

And as I rattle against these restraints

All I know becomes something I don’t

And what I don’t know plants seeds

That need my love to grow, like a child

That craves the embrace to show

Her she is whole, and never alone.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

6/1/2012

Presence

I play rolling waves

And AUM to take me to a place

That is softer than dew on grass

And gentler than a 5 week old kitten,

Mewing her needs, craving mommy.

I love my 4 furry children.

They’re all I’ll ever have.

Loss is not sharp anymore.

The twins I wanted.

The babies I grieved

In desire’s dream.

Loss befriends me.

We sip ice water,

We gaze at the moon.

We wonder how many

Moons I had to trace

Before we could sit,

In peace, grandmother moon

Blessing me these 53 years

With her constant care,

Giving me comfort

When I could find none

In family or friends,

Keeping watch

When I could not watch

Because I was drunk,

Crazy or depressed.

Feeling then bore fangs

And anger in fists

I kept clenched and teeth

I grinded. The hurt had to wear

That face to shelter

Hurts that claimed me

Since a teen: I could not care.

Now I do. I care for the moon

As if she were my mother

Who will die of Alzheimer’s.

I care because I can, because

I want to care with a touch

That loves as if each stranger

Were the child I longed to know.

Yes, loss is kinder now.

I shed those dinosaur tears

With a smile. Bliss is a promise

I could never make. Now

It is a gift I cannot keep.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

5/24/201

Beyond the Looking Glass

Clarity comes in the moment:

A moon’s sliver

Smiles into heaven

And stars wink

At the sun:

We each have our time.

I gage breath

As if it meant life,

Or death.

I want to measure

Meaning as if I were

Baking a soufflé

Or lavender leaves

And rose petals,

Onyx and choral,

Lemon and kiwis.

If nothing fell,

Nothing would rise.

Miracles happen

All the time.

It’s not the happening.

It’s the sideways glance

That helps me see

The magic in my kitten’s tail,

Or gratitude as an ongoing prayer.

Sometimes I say the “Our Father”

As there’s comfort in the known

And who doesn’t need forgiveness?

Shame tells dirty stories

And muddies the soul.

Yet those secrets hold nuggets

Of gold like the fleece on

An angel’s wing that teach

You to fly when done denying.

Truth does not need to be pretty.

Truth does not need to feel good.

Desire never lies.

And yet we find ourselves

Hidden in Russian dolls

Till the inside gets smaller

And smaller and there’s

Nothing left to hide.

Instead I draw circles on my heart

And don’t try to get outside.

We each have more than one center.

But I am done with the circumference.

All of nature is one unbroken line.

So connect your dots,

Figure out what gravity cannot know.

I want to go up, not out.

I want to go around, not down.

I want freedom to tease me until

All I know becomes what I don’t.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

5/20/2012

On Plunking

Plunk: going down

And in,

Tender as a newborn’s toe,

Yet the surface

Runs deep,

All potential

In a moment,

A breath,

Hope sprouts

Leaves as fear

Clips its nails

And lets me

Grace the stem

With my fingertips

While roots

Remain invisible.

Beginnings seem

Sudden, the water breaks,

Hours of labor

And then in the end,

What happened?

Light does not need shadow.

Shadow can only be seen

If it shines.

Ah, the exhale promises

Quiet, release, peace.

I never gave birth, to a baby.

The abortion was painless.

No regrets. The choice

Was easy…the doctors

Claimed if I carried my baby,

They’d take it away.

Instead I had it vacuumed.

The end. Yet birth does not demand

Blood and sperm, egg and womb.

Birth demands death.

Death gives light. But do I know?

My faith is a rainbow, not

Always visible but always

The promise of gold,

The alchemists test

Of god in matter.

God? Matter? We all do.

I crave meaning

Like a baby seeks the nipple.

I crave attention

Like a child takes what

Is not given, in anyway possible.

What is possible?

Not everything, maybe,

But yes, anything.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

5/18/2012

On Plunking

Plunk: going down

And in,

Tender as a newborn’s toe,

Yet the surface

Runs deep,

All potential

In a moment,

A breath,

Hope sprouts

Leaves as fear

Clips its nails

And lets me

Grace the stem

With my fingertips

While roots

Remain invisible.

Beginnings seem

Sudden, the water breaks,

Hours of labor

And then in the end,

What happened?

Light does not need shadow.

Shadow can only be seen

If it shines.

Ah, the exhale promises

Quiet, release, peace.

I never gave birth, to a baby.

The abortion was painless.

No regrets. The choice

Was easy…the doctors

Claimed if I carried my baby,

They’d take it away.

Instead I had it vacuumed.

The end. Yet birth does not demand

Blood and sperm, egg and womb.

Birth demands death.

Death gives light. But do I know?

My faith is a rainbow, not

Always visible but always

The promise of gold,

The alchemists test

Of god in matter.

God? Matter? We all do.

I crave meaning

Like a baby seeks the nipple.

I crave attention

Like a child takes what

Is not given, in anyway possible.

What is possible?

Not everything, maybe,

But yes, anything.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

5/18/2012

Seek Magic

I seek magic
With my fingertips,
Tickling
Grace in a breeze,
With each breath,
Inhaling spring.
I seek magic
In every sunset
And moon glow,
In my kitten’s
Purr and whiskers.
I seek magic
In oregano and basil.
I seek magic
In all I do,
A belief that the possible
Is probable,
That what I dream
When life passes
Youth into
The blessing of
Middle age, I seek magic
To hold what I never held,
To find a root
That no earthquake
Can unearth.
I seek magic
That sparkles
Like the stars
And paints like rainbows.
I seek magic
That takes a bud
Into flower,
A magic that lends
Light into death.
I seek magic
To suspend
A heart so hurt
Its fear is faith
That’s known
Love was a barter to survive
Where hope
Burned a hole
Until a voice
Was born to share
What I cannot say,
To sing my tears
So I can feel the pain.
I seek magic
To release
How I know and give
Me a wisp of my shadow
Under the light of a candle
Until the wax makes a body
I can call my own,
Until the flame
Has no wick,
Until the light I strike,
Flint on flint,
Dances on my heart
And the sparks
Teach me I can be,
Alone.

Edith Lazenby Trilling
5/16/2012

A Sharing

Going in I find

A drop of water

That grows

Into a stream

With frogs

And fish and birds

And trees.

Sunlight teases

Shadow into light.

Green caresses

Each moment.

Silence trickles,

Moss on stone,

Quiet of flow

That does not

Make waves

Like the sea

But rocks

My spirit

Into space

Where solace

Tickles like feathers

That comfort

As if resting

All thought on

A down pillow

And feeling

Dreams self

Into a horizon

Of pinks, purples,

Oranges and red

And a day passes

Into another

Where love

Can hold

Its promise

Taking faith

From mystery

Into the known.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

5/14/2012

A Truth

I stick to surfaces,

Skating along

Frozen edges

Using a blade

To slice moments

To keep the cold

So far inside

I don’t feel

What’s alive.

Heart skips

Breath until

What beats

Loses meaning

And knowing

Sheds self

Into shards

Of broken glass,

Making a transparent

Mirror hiding

The image

I trace looking

Out into your eyes,

Trying to find

My being, a circle

Of white unable

To reflect light

Because fear

Turns into black

And what

I need won’t

Come because

I am like a bud

When the seed

Hits concrete

And the roots

That wrangle

Out from sun

And rain

Reach up

And cannot find

Ground.

Edith Lazenby Trilling 5/7/2012

Just Thoughts

I don’t always know what

To say, met by a blank page,

Like a seed on earth,

The un-knowing sprouts leaves

And ask for names: lavender,

Spearmint, rosemary…smells

Hint into Easter and yoga,

Tea and incense, a flow that meets

The Eucharist with your heart

In my mind, my body in your spirit,

Body/mind and Heart/Spirit.

Why draw the line, except

Boundaries keep me safe, you

In your world, me in mine, or me

In my heart, you in yours…Spirit

Grows wings on the tips of a rainbow,

And I grow into Tree Pose, in a garden

Of apple trees where knowing exiles

None and invites all to enter, even

A snake in the grass offers a metaphor and

Wisdom’s horns require ownership.

What goes up must come down and

What is here must go, somewhere….light

Surrounds us from the inside out and the outside,

In, and like the moon can pull tides out and

People in and over and under until faith

Must stand without hope or prophecy,

Even Moses broke the tablets the first time

Around and each time, each time we go,

Around and around, each time we go,

We learn it’s not death that demands resurrection

To life but life that makes each rise into

The edge of forgiveness so we can rise alive,

Into life, on the rainbow’s promise, even when

All we love dies, we must rise without a crown,

Knowing what’s special is what survives.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

5/3/2012

Poem

I am taking a walk

To where I’ve been

And yet am confused

To where I am going.

You’d think I know.

Ever driven a route

And not know when

You arrived what

Was outside? I have.

My memory knows

Where the library is,

Where I grew up,

Who my family is,

What schools I attended…

I live near two and

Yet each time I am

Near them I feel nothing,

No loss, no gain.

No love, no hate.

Childhood remains

In my imagination.

We remember

The bad, to survive.

Or we dissociate.

I remember the puzzle

Tree outside of nursery

School that I passed each

Day on the way to

Grove Avenue

Elementary School.

I remember Julie

So well, friends now

For 47 years or so.

The puzzle tree was easy.

The bark peels off

And you just put it back.

Jigsaw puzzles scare me.

Usually the finally picture

Does not intrigue, but fitting

It together, piece by piece.

How do I fit the pieces?

What is the picture

I create in my heart

Day after day, that still

I cannot paint.

Maybe gray and pink,

Green and indigo,

Shapes of trees

And a meadow

Of willow trees,

Maybe there’s nothing

In the memory,

Nothing lost, nothing gained,

Just a life lived

Where what love

Promised was a lie,

And what will rise

In the shadows

Are ghosts

That will not die.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

4/25/12

Poem,  An Effort

The deep layers leave me bare.

I try to bury the feathers there.

I remember the wings, before

I became more of an earthling.

Of course I have feet and legs,

Arms and shoulders, fingers

And toes, senses that make be bold.

I remember when my heart soared.

I remember when freedom

Was a late night, skinny dipping

In the ocean after midnight.

I remember when tears flowed

And laughter embraced moment

After moment after moment.

Somewhere I shed what lifted

Me into the sky, and ground

My heels into earth: Meaning.

I thought I found it, but lost

It when my smile was swallowed

By the wind when I was picking

Up sticks after a storm, looking

Down to the ground, gathering

Limbs that lost what I could

No longer hold. And somewhere

Between what held me high

And let me fly, I hide what matters

From me and then, it might be you

Who cannot see a truth I knew,

Before quills poked my surface

And made me tough, before I gave

Life what I could not give myself,

A devotion that knows feeling

Can be light as a feather, and

Each one can give me flight,

But instead I am stuck on a ledge

Staring at the concrete knowing

What’s buried could fall out

If I fell, yet knowing the light

Lives here, now, if only I could

Ride the breeze of being

And come out of this nest

That keeps the bad in and the good out.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

4/23/12

Poem

I feel the horizon

Though I see a wall.

I feel comfort of sun

Though I see gray clouds.

I feel space and air

And see fire and concrete.

I feel an opening

And see locks everywhere.

I feel change is a promise

And see words undoing truths.

I feel hope in my heart

And see despair on the news.

I feel what I know

And see what I don’t.

I feel honor in love

And see its betrayals.

I feel the toddler’s innocence,

I feel compassion of friends,

I feel the love of my family,

I feel faith grows with breath,

Like a seed that needs

Air, space, rain and fire,

And earth’s pledge to be

A fairway for all of life,

To fold and unfold light

Into light, being to being,

Soul to spirit, like a tree

That reaches upward,

Each finding her love

Each finding his peace.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

4/22/2012

Poem

Sometimes I just have to go,

Take the fall, see if wings grow

Or if concrete splits what hurts,

Open…Oh, I love to fly, high

In the ether of feeling, bathing

In bliss, fluff of feathers that ease

And tickle until I forget what it

Is to frown or drown in the abyss

That holds my heart in stasis,

Where nothing moves, and heaviness

Weighs thick as wet blankets

And is cold as winter in Maine

Even when it is spring in DC.

Sometimes I just have to go.

I don’t always want to see

What breathes beneath what comforts

Ease into my routines: tv, friends

On the phone, planning dinner at breakfast,

Maybe a walk or book or music, something

That lets me believe I honor time and life,

On occasion, well, here and there, though

I know when I go I dive deep into the wake

Of being, I have to go alone, yet once here,

Magic happens in way I cannot explain

Because even though all I hear is my breath

And heart, even though I don’t see anything

Or have visions, even though the world

Tells me I am completely alone

With thought and being, my soul

Knows different, because whatever

Is and cannot change, whatever inspires

All beings, sits on the flutter of my heart

And faith becomes not an exercise in belief,

Points of view, but an experience that gives me

Me and, you, and well, a way to exorcise love,

So it flies even higher, without the need of wings

Or help of a breeze, and only to take it out so it

Can go deeper in and be free to move about.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

4/21/12

Poem

There’s freedom in pain,

In knowing what hurt

Is, and is not, where it can

Lead, and how, like an explorer

That gears up with boots and

Ropes, tents and water,

Going a new way, familiar tools,

The moon does its thing

As I do mine, one foot in front

Of the other, looking down instead

Of out yet when I find a view,

A deep valley, tall mountains,

So many trees, and what I know

Is like that, this ache that won’t

Let go, I hike to it often, one foot

Planted firmly so I don’t fall or

Lose the balance my life is,

I finally found a way to go

Because now I know even

Though the trail may change,

And the weather can be good

Or bad, I know however I choose

To go, something as old as the moment

I was conceived won’t ever change:

Oh, mom and dad must die.

I will grow older if blessed.

Love’s face is no longer the sun

That sheds its heart with evening

So affection can see just enough,

No love is not the moon that waxes

And wanes and comforts me no

Matter what; love is something

That stays in a place beyond

Heaven that nothing can take,

So pain and hurt are like the cradle

To this ember, and this cradle

Is strong as the mountains

I walk and climb and no longer

Need to shake or rattle

Or try to break: this cradle

Of pain frees me, a mote in the wind,

A breeze in summer, dew in fall,

And frost in winter, buds in spring.

It’s life and death. It’s being, breathing.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

4/9/2012

Poem

The sun heats my heart

Until the inside bleeds out,

And loss wears a red

Sock, with holes in the heel.

Does not seem like much.

We all have holes, in different

Places, the heel, the toes, elbows.

I touch the shallow holes,

Where skin shows, common

To you and me…yet who knows

The feeling of heat oozing

Spirit into a bloody gel

That’s poison like pus,

Like a cyst or boil

That bubbles up to the top:

Seems easy to let it all go.

But the tears tear at a place

That’s sacred to me, a place

That believes in the honor

Of love and truth, like a yellow

Tulip and white sand,

One does not lead to the other,

And yet I am letting each lead

Me into a place I am getting to know,

The quiet of being that breeds

Peace in a meadow I visit

Alone, a place where the treasure

Of love is not in the giving or taking,

But in seeing what is without

Shade or shadow, knowing family,

And my place in it, is not a question,

But an answer that reveals meaning

Is not the matter, and learning what

Hurts will never go away, a bed

Of moss on a stone, a tall tree

With a rope swing in a memory

I cannot hold but cherish

As if something that was not

Could be, so something that is

Won’t always haunt me.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

4/9/12

Poem

Grief crunches like fresh celery,

Not the gnashing of teeth

Or the tearing of hope, but

It can be fresh, clean, organic,

Natural as death and birth.

Oh, it can be messy, dirty

As a litter box between

Three cats, filthy as garbage,

Consuming as any addiction

Always is….yet cork the bottle,

Put the garbage out when you should

So the home smells comfort

And take care of your cats,

Then good and bad can flow.

Stuff it down, bury it in a hole,

And resentment finds seeds

To grow and harvest weeds

That devour the heart until

Something stronger than love

Reaps what love cannot feel

Until nature takes it course

And lets the spirit heal.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

4/2/2012

An Easter Poem, of Sorts….

I cracked like an egg once,

Or maybe it was more like

A baker’s dozen….like my brain

Had 12 lives like a cat has nine,

And each time a chick died,

Or was it a bit of me, a bit of matter

Oozed out my eyes and toes

Because face it, I am over-much,

There is simply too much of me

For me, or anybody, so I take

A slate like time and etch images

That sing to me to help me find peace.

Really though, what I uncover in this chaos

Is a calamity of feelings that don’t really

Want to be named, so I say egg for soul,

Chick for death, and tap to a static haze

That keeps the dynamic of me and you

Clear as any boundary I want to erase

By crossing over, not death to life

But from the living to my heart,

Bursting open like a firecracker

Time and again. No, it’s not slow and neat

Like a beak tapping away at the layer that keeps

The outside out. It’s messy and loud and sometimes

When I think I am going deaf a drop of blood

Touches my pinky and I am reminded

That the rivers of life know how to change

Colors from inside to out even if I don’t,

Even when I cannot clear the clouds

Of being into a vapor that soothes

The atmosphere I can, these days, cry.

And that is a blessing I would not trade

For a dozen daffodils or a chocolate torte,

Or the fresh Spring that hints at joy

Out my window because I need my sadness

To blossom this year as I plant rosemary

And mint and wonder if this year

I will paint eggs for Easter, for fun,

For the hunts I don’t remember and

For a birth that only comes

When forgiveness finds a voice

To live again.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

4/2/12

Poem

Loss has no sense of humor.

The riddle remains

To trigger tears that have

No grave for flowers.

I see my life

As a series of short stories,

Too much fact for fiction.

How do I mourn a child

I did not bear but lost,

To another life, her real mom?

How do I plant a seed

In my memory to bear

A blossom when roots

Weren’t allowed to grow,

When no sun shone on the plot

Of my heart, no rain fed

The light of my soul.

Why did it seem so hard,

This life, growing up,

A family I adore?

Today I grieve what I know:

A child was born.

She grew up.

She shed her soul

Like a snake

Loses its skin. She was

Cut in halves and like

A worm she continued

To grow. She takes circumstance

Into her hand as if each phase

Held the promise of a butterfly,

But each time along

The way, each caterpillar

That was me had to go inside

A place filled with darkness,

Spinning the covering from

The inside out so I could

Hide me from me and grow

Wings, to try to fly.

Butterflies don’t live long.

For a moment the breezes

Feel good, flowers smell sweet.

When my deaths come,

I don’t always know.

Some came easily,

Like waking up crazy,

Left what remained in a hole.

Years later I feel a sprout

Under my feet, reaching up.

Those roots grew inward

And are pushing out my ears

So what I hear is the pulse

Of  what grew in the dark,

That took the misplaced

Love and built a song

Of hope on the weeds

Of despair that learned

At 9 years old, life is not fair.

All I know rocks today

Into a crying haze

Until feeling lets go,

To find its bounce

And beat in meaning

Because though I’ve

Never given birth,

I know it’s rarely easy.

Few I love have died,

Though there’s a cemetery

Inside trying to find space

For each time I have.

Love, though, survives,

Haunting the ghosts

Of who I was

And what memory lost:

An image of a girl,

Happy and free.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

3/30/2012

Poem

I want to pull it out by the root, yet

I cannot see anything to grab…I pray

For a spear or arrow to show

Me where I am being pierced,

To localize the injury,

So I can bleed honestly

And let the body do its job.

The heart hurts. An overall sense

Of being covered with mud and standing

On land that sinks each time I try to lift

A foot and move away from this space.

I know the sun was out today.

Dinner was yummy. Friends are dear

And not far from my needs reach.

I reach to the sky to pull out a prayer

But I am not sure what I am asking.

I sit in quiet to listen to time and the earth’s

Murmur but all I hear are cars driving

By and the jingle of the ice cream truck.

Kids bounce balls outside.

A toddler comes to my window,

Fascinated by the kitties sitting in the window.

I remember sitting in windows, watching.

I remember wondering why meaning hid

And caring hurt. But that was lifetimes ago,

Before I left home, went to school, lived on my own.

I say everything gets better with time but

I wonder today how true that is, if things seem

Easier because of years of lifting layers

Of grief with one hand to place another deeper,

Finer, too real to come too close, too real to allow

Me to etch a prayer from my heart and let it fly

To heaven because I cannot touch what I don’t dare

Feel and I cannot name this knowing, because if I did,

The child I spent a lifetime burying, would come alive

And the woman I am would find her core built

On roots that never knew life, and I don’t know

What would live or who would die.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

3/25/12

Poem

I cannot feel it all:

The desire to maime

Love with a blade,

To sever my heart

From my head,

To retch into the space

That is supposed to be

Me, and know that void

Could be a blessing,

Where air flows

And emotion breeds

What I aim at but always

Miss: the sense of being

More than light,

More than shadow,

Something other than

A reaction to life,

A fragment of fragments,

A sliver of moon,

A shard of a mirror,

A piece of a picture

That has no canvas

To hold the image

I strangle in my mind,

And am dying to bring

To life: a morning dove

Out my window, cooing,

Among the rosemary

And lavender, smells

To comfort the chaos

Of sense that knows

No line can define

This need, or erase

A life where love’s

Flower blooms

A rainbow in black,

When memory

Is something I cannot

Take back.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

3/19/2012

Poem

Quiet takes me by surprise,

As time eases into the spaces

Between breaths and the breeze

Comes over like an old friend

Who really did miss me, and touch

Is kind, not unlike a blessing

That makes you want to blossom

On the spot, because your heart

Keeps growing stronger and softer,

Though they tell us we get hard

With age and even sugar can be

Bitter, I beg to differ, I beg life

To keep giving me love in wisps

Of moonlight and curious looks

From little children who know

The best question is why and the best

Choice is No, being able to choose,

And so I choose this calm, a comfort

In the life of cell phones and emails,

Where value is weighed in hours

Not shared but worked away as if

Meaning were a gage of hours on

A check that gives what it takes:

Freedom really has no price.

That’s the riddle, though we struggle

A lifetime to find its essence

In the light that we meet in death.

Being only asks one thing: the presence

To be present….what finer gift

Could you offer your daughter

Or grandfather, your beloved?

Wrap me up. I am here. I am ready

To open to you, Spring in a seed.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

3/19/2012

Poem

I read words woven on silk

And tears surge

From a place in my heart

I cover with fronds

And hankerchiefs and petals

Dried from a time

When love was more dream

Than hope, more like a sparkle

Of moonlight in the crevice

Of night, when love did not touch

The space singed on bitterness,

Where each day need plants

A prayer for forgiveness

And thanks for the picture

I see when I must name

Love’s teacher: my mother.

Not everyone can make that claim.

And yet the flame that burned

Keeps it shadows dodging

In the light, and hate’s pulse

Seeks a target to stone

With a wish that the faces

I see were stranger’s, not the kin

And blood of my own.

Edith Lazenby Trillling

3/17/12

Poem

I want to make a difference,

Not just be different.

I want the tide to turn on my breath

In a heart I don’t know, namely,

My own…I want to crack open

At the seams, let the goodness

Ease the badness out, become

Soft as tear drop, gentle like a breeze

That barely grazes my eyelashes,

I want to know this heart

Inside and out, so the anguish

I dodge does not hit strangers

Over their brow when confronted

With my impatience, I toss

It like rock in some one’s face

As if their teeth were a target

When what hurts truly

Is some place in me I cannot

Yet name or see, finding

Strategic ways to keep all away,

I cannot edge up to my edge,

The parabola once warned

That drives the sane into insanity,

Not from too much dopamine

But from seeing Self as self,

Dorian Grey’s portrait

A palette my mirror cannot hold,

Fear shatters image into a name

I can say and spell and claim

And in that, all meaning shreds me

Into tatters of question marks

That stamp answers in sentences

That explain nothing, broken open

Sees blame and guilt and grief

Like a message in a bottle

I send back into the sea of my soul

Waiting for truth’s bell to seek a toll

When all it wants is for honor to hold

Integrity in its rightful place, not a trophy

For show, but a like a reed brought

To my lips to sing a single note

With Spring’s tidings, to make this

A seed that flowers hope.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

3/13/2012

Poem

My life is a prayer
Folded between
My heart and yours,
Where the answers
Are questions and
The questions
Images of light
On a green leaf
Teasing Spring
From the gut
Of the earth,
Where what
I seek is who I am
And who I am,
A coma in a sentence
That pauses
For silence, breath,
And the moment
To lead into a word
That brings clouds
Dancing like squirrels
On the tip of your tongue
That finds sweetness
In the acorn you’d never
Eat but savor in the tree
It will be, as its spirit
Is held in sunshine,
Soil and rain, when
Mine is cradled
The same, in a womb
Of feathers and flower
Petals that feed
The bit of me
That bows my head
Each time I spy
The moon or chance
Upon a star
Through my windshield
Shooting across the sky
In a few blinks, knowing
Destination means nothing
Compared to the journey,
Knowing the steps I take
And words I write are echoes
Whispers of love, the beat
Of joy in a child’s cry who
Sees snow fall for the first time,
Luck like a rainbow I almost
Crash into before I know
On impact, the colors won’t bleed
And all I can do with time
Is give myself up like a wave,
Grateful to be a part of the sea.

Edith Lazenby Trilling
3/8/2012

Poem

Sometimes I just want to give up,

Let the balloon of hope go up

With the wind beyond what I see

So when it finally finds land

I won’t know the emptiness

Of its shell on earth, the torn

Orange shred of what has been,

Lives without a shred in my memory.

Balance is never easy…teetering

On a point I am not sure how to make

When meaning survives my life,

And yours, the secret of truths

Is not in the telling but the knowing:

The promise of fullness mirrored

By a moon I cannot quite see, it’s half

Smile like that wink from a man

I trusted for no good reason.

I sit on a sofa. The television quiets the room.

Music ebbs from the floor below, two cats

Sleeping, fingers playing Taps on my keyboard

As an echo of camp vespers when I was a child

Tunes an image of me, 11 years old, surrounded

By girls who were not friends though I wanted

At least one to take back in my heart when home.

Anguish needs many masks for who wouldn’t hide?

I wanted to come out of this hole years ago but back

Then, I did not know it was hole holding me in, keeping

That sense of self under a blanket for comfort.

Effort and Surrender…many speak of these

As if they were common friends, yet the jewel

Is not in the sapphire, but what it holds, and how:

The touchstone of fire is a diamond. The touchstone

Of light is in the darkness. A gift’s worth is not in

In the giving but how we share it, the moment,

A thought, a time to visit when looking back

Is all we’ve got, and now, the blessing is, if I dare,

I can still look ahead laced with care and sorrow,

A scrapbook of pieces I cannot quite put into place

Yet the cover I have: it is my blind third eye.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

3/6/2011

Poem

Seems like prayer is begging

For the thought of heaven

To sieze my heart, so I can

Land on my knees,

Which never worked for me

And yet, as I sit grounding

Thought with a pestle

Until the powder

Becomes a wish I place

Behind the heart, and it blooms

Into a bud that begins

With Our Father, or, shall

I say Our Mother…? Or shall

I say the Divine, Nature, Shiva and

Kali…Lakshmi and Buddha?

Questions don’t always need

Answers, but flowers need

Sun and earth and water

Like I need roots to speak to me

So today I say, Our Father, and

Fold my hands knowing,

If forgiveness is the crux

Of Christianity, as it seems to me, then

I have to ask this heart to forgive

What I do know and plant my spirit

In a place where I listen for God

In the whisper of the wind, the hand

Of a friend, the love of my mother,

The hope of an eternity where light

Leads to light, where my Granny

will greet me to lead me onto the field

where Angels sing and Spirits dance,

where prayers are heard, where forgiveness

is given when the heart opens, and love’s

Seed becomes forever’s need.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

3/6/2012

Poem

There’s always more,

Stars keep popping,

Grass keeps growing,

Spring comes on Winter’s

Tail and my tale ebbs

On waves of light

That hold life like the ocean

That colors depths

With sea plants and animals

In a darkness I know

That wears veils I lift

To see below what hurts

Like the searing pain of birth

Where even a mother

Can pray for death, though

Underneath the plea for release

Is the force and cry of Spirit,

As my spirit cries for its ignorance

Of missing that moment, the final

Push and scream as a baby lands

On her mother’s breast, the father’s

Eye gleams with pride and joy,

And yet in my quiet home, peopled

With cats not children, all my love

Still seeks to flow into the knowing;

We each need the embrace of bliss

To hold those moments when feeling

Stands in the angst of loss, separate,

Alone, so I plant the seeds life offers

In this heart, and that hope, and offer

You mine, that sometimes the mire

Of life suffers in me, and then the moon

Opens the whole of sky in a beam

And I remember that I forgot

There’s always more, and happiness

Is a touch away, the sound of a bell,

The rustle of wind at the window,

The love of family, the kinship of friends,

The cuddle with cats, the comfort of words,

The flame of nature, the healing in time.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

3/4/2012

Poem

It’s the shadow time,

When even in daylight

I sense darkness.

Insides like goo

That will not move,

A black paste

That’s got me stuck

In space and time,

Without a door

Or window to open

Or close because

I cannot move out

Of my thoughts

Or into my body.

Nothing works.

Nothing feels right.

Tears might do

But they’re glued

To the goo.

I sit in this charred

Stew of self

And realize

This could be

That “dark night of the soul”

Or, is it just

That loss leaves me empty

And my drive

Died in the knowing

Love is one thing

In thought,

Another in action,

And another in words

And a different

Sense in feeling.

The infant I was

Finds a voice

At odd moments

And it knew

Needs met

were not

equal to love’s breast.

So grown and finding

Age is a friend

I want, I settle into a book

And cuddle with my kitten

Who does not know

The truth of goo,

And wait for the moon

As I shift my gaze

And cover the ache

With a potpourri

Of images, wishing

I could just cry and move into

My heart that’s all dried up,

One beating scab

I want to heal,

Grateful it functions,

Even though

It cannot feel.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

March 3, 2012

Poem

Like a firecracker without a holiday,

My insides pop and smoke.

There is no dance of colors.

The sparkle is ash and powder.

The artillery of feelings

Aim and shoot my spirit

Until I am a profile of holes.

The target cannot shift

Away from what simmers.

My heart is poster collage

Of bits and pieces of a memory

That takes snap shots of home,

Mom, dad, the dog, my friend,

The tv shows, meatloaf and peas

I pushed around the plate,

My brother who did not eat enough

And my sister who did not see

The space she owned, boundaries

Became a dotted line of yes then no

Then yes again and all I learned

Landed in a cauldron where the dross

Of love became the color of shame

And guilt as I drop myself into the stew

Wishing only to be devoured so I can stop

Cutting off the pieces of myself to be offered

In hopes of making the pain I feel soften

Into a red velvet birthday cake

So I can celebrate the life I did not have

And embrace my truths:

We each did our best.

I think I’d rather give thanks

Than assign blame.

This is it: Dad will die sooner

Than later and I just want him

To know his love is immortal

In me, dad, one of my dearest

Friends, and best teacher,

Will have to move into the light

And leave me here to find mine.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

3/1/12

I used to use a shovel

To unearth what life buried.

Now I reach for a chisel

To hack away what’s hardened

By time and circumstance, as if

My heart’s core were surrounded

By marble and granite, so that beat

That assures me when I listen

Can blare loud enough so I cannot

Deny what’s there: a blossom

With soft petals the color of blood

And a smell that reminds me

That love survives when all else

Fails that no matter what happens,

Grace’s truth cannot lie and or leave

When I cannot see past what is not,

This faith that claims nothing

Outside of all I am, has no religion,

Nor tenet to call its own, the church

I find that works for me is in the heart

Of others, where I try to tread gently

And give willingly, moment by moment,

When my best is not always good,

When who I am makes me push

Away a grief I do not know how

To hold so instead I walk

Tall and breathe deep and say

My prayers when I wish I could sleep.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

11/4/11

I WANT 

I want to find the place within

That feels dark and windowless

So I can light a candle and walk out.

The darkness reels me into spaces

When my back is turned, and with a blink,

The light returns and I don’t know

What I know anymore until a haze

Falls over my heart like a morning fog

And truth taunts what appears real:

The blue sky, the fresh lavender

In my garden, the affection of my kitten…

So much that gives me life’s beauty.

Yet always beneath there rumbles and

Grates a refrain of loathing for the nameless

Shames that play a game of hide and seek.

I’d like to pluck them all but they don’t

Stand still, shifting in the shadows;

So I arm myself the only way I know how,

Begin the digging, for if I cannot get

The roots maybe I can pluck the thorns

That pierce from within and find a way

To ease the ache that comes with being.

Edith Lazenby

8/20/11

On Teaching

Sometimes the Sun looks just like the moon

And I would not know the difference if it weren’t

Sometime near dinnertime mid summer

When it still hangs high and squints my eyes.

Tenderness can be like that: a softness

That helps us cross hurdles and get up when down,

Smile when our heart is below ground,

Reach out beyond any feeling because all is gone

Past any giving and yet, in the reflected light

Of those I see in front of me, something rises high

As sky and goes deeper than any tree roots

And what I find inside is sweeter than chocolate

And dear as my granny was to me: a love

That leads my words into meaning and guides

Me even when I have no energy to continue

To give what there is when time’s taken most all

And left me with a seed my mother plants

Every time she says goodbye: “Love, Love, Love” she says,

Or, “Hugs, Hugs, Hugs,” and every breath I give

Resonates all that and more, and gives what I need

To live a life where who I am is what I give.

7/24/11

Courage wears a face

Like a raccoon on my doorstep,

Hunting scraps

In this civilized too human world.

His mask, like mine, is

What is real ~ but I can change mine

With a mood, sunshine or

Rain can make the eyes light or dark

And yet the question

Begs me to feel what I cannot hide,

Or to stop hiding what

I cannot feel ~ courage asks me to see

What is as it is, inside and out,

The ice on the car, the anger in my niece,

The glee as Obama takes

On the job of the President while my cat

Mews for more food and

I let grief go, a strand of hair I don’t miss,

That child I never gave birth to

Though my light lives on the edge of my lips

As I pass that on, the love, not the genes,

Is what matters, as I make this

House a home for my own love, my husband,

And me, and our two cats,

Brave enough to know that who I am and

What I do no longer need fight

With who I’ve been and what I’ve done

As tears grace the pool of my eyes

Though my need to cry

Leaves on a word and I embrace now

In a prayer of gratitude,

Dusk barking on the grayness of the day,

Like a veil born to protect

Us from what cannot ever be, filtering

The shadows, to unfold hands

That open to hold whatever time offers.

Edith Lazenby Trilling

1/28/09

************

I’ve been through this

Again, and again,

That emptiness

That wracks

Each breath

And makes each

Gesture reach

For that one thing

More to put inside

Like a chocolate

Or an ice cream

Or a box of anything!

The moon is at half mast,

Neither all here, but

About half over there,

With stars spitting

Brightness down

My sight as if

Happiness a

Birthright of mine.

And where

Were my rights at birth,

Doling out tragic

Mishaps like addiction

And alcoholism,

Mental instability

And imaginary worlds

As if just being human

With a body weren’t

Enough to trouble me.

But then the moon

Fills out as it does each

Night , that feeling that

Grapples at my neck

Settles down near my

Feet and I remember

How lucky I am, to

Have a body

And to realize

Happiness is my birthright alright.

Edith Lazenby Trilling 9/21/07

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: