Sienna satin waves roll through dusk, Clean expectations of what’s next, Unknowing heartens my hold, Fall wind unfastens the shoulds, Driftwood carves its own art.
I will receive purpose like a loving child, Tune and pick that old guitar As an eager beginner, Promise the cloud-frothing pastels I will paint them yet in watercolor.
Light dims my stiffened hands home Among wafts of camp spaghetti, Damp leaves, frost coming, and pine. Gentle I go past tree-huddled teens In black T-shirts, jeans and goosebumps.
I’m far from that age but recall Their vast empty calling cards And loose anticipation With a hint of driving rain. I will find my youth again.
Copyright 2024 Laura E. Garrard All photography by Laura E. Garrard
Solstice Psalm
The long night says become still, prepare. Oh how I fight being held, like a squirmy child, lips tight, head turned from sticky cherry syrup offered on a spoon from mother’s hand. I try too hard to heal myself when I need to fall like sleep into god’s keep, the arms of an ancient wood.
Poetry In Time 