A Boomerang on its axis will return to the sender
At a speed so fast you have to blink
whirling, windward, linear
back to me
frisbee whirling in space
what a fuuny word
You whip out your phone and take a bunch of quick photographs capturing an unforgettable moment in time
We get together to take pictures of family. The ones closest to you
The sun is shining on just the right angle. One picture is worth thousands of words.
they reflect glimpses of wherever you are
Big smiles or a frown.
In that space a lifeline, unrecorded
a place for all beginnings.
There was a yearning flooding back to me
and then a small envelope, appeared. It was was so delicate, and it smelled like clover. I quivered when I opened it and I began to cry
melting the dye with tears and
paper patterns appeared
Scratchy words written on paper with a fragile yet steady hand.
Come home it simply said
And I remembered
ten of us in the little house at the end of a dusty street
illuminated by one street sign the flying horse.
The light pulsed the beginning act 1 of the day. To the woman who carved out its wings, in clay. It must have been a real horse but did not fly away.
To the top of the Pegasus sign I climbed scouting my next plot-line
I dreamed of the fun I would have along the way always to return to my little house without curtains at the end of day.
The kitchen table grew many seats as we sat to pray. There was good food warm hands and a fire to warm the fray
My grandma was like the willow tree. She helped mamas birth their children and we called her mama honeybee
Her lap was wide and spreading and soothed us with her words without fretting.
Her stories were just like toast with fresh butter
give me hug
she said without a stutter.
She was the one that didn't scold us for our wrongs. She always offered a life lesson with her songs
She leaned back in her rocking chair with a wide grin and her laughter was strong
In her glory
My Nanna doula's story,
she helped to bring me to this life with her hands
And my mother was the chorus and brought flowers, poetry, art
and a kitchen spoon band.
Give the children a place to run free
let them play and art their way through all of life
they all said in similarity
The narrative of my birth started with an idea
for a painting
and a collaboration
Colors and broad strokes on canvas was the first of celebration
Then one by one they shared my name. My mother stood on the porch as she proclaimed
Thank You for being born.
pictures of paintings and family art
became the family album
every person and child signed their names.
In a frame, of everyday, we were taught to work it
and it might not be picture perfect.
Start a new canvas with new tools. And so I did as I embraced life's school
As I reached into my thoughts swiftly, quickly as I became the sender. My thoughts lighted down on places I have called home in countries of the world
unfurled scarves of many colors where lifting higher over dancing people
up and over as we played on cobblestone streets
with little ones running with woven socks and chubby cheeks.
I was the seeker, and my camera became my eyes and ears until the tears of laughter and their stories of sadness and joy became another part of me.
It was a feeling place as every experience and every face brought me to another part of grace.
No lace, or frills just a place to bed down, in my temporary home
and the goodwill sharing was like seedlings growing.
A time for innocence and truth, ruthless youth, and bold steps
toward finding that enigmatic without walls place of being
held and cradled in love
Not so austere that you couldn’t cry or laugh till you peed in your pants. You could hear the words of your favorite people, and yet you understand a new path. No math just the question that seared through you.
Where and what is home?
With the invitation held close
Nanna doula greeted me
With faded eyes that twinkled a special light we talked and laughed about my years of travel, as her fingers traced the people I met, on a montage of pages. She shared her birthing stories and the pains and joy of coming into this world.
Our journey was together
Grandma Doula, where will you go, where will you be?
Grandma doula got very close to me,
with one finger pointed to my chest.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I could hear my heart beat. Closer and closer to home
I will be with you, wherever you are, in your being, the place you call home
About the Creator
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Easy to read and follow
Well-structured & engaging content
Original narrative & well developed characters
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions