With What Has Been Given

(Pre-Script: This poem should be read as the song, "Winter," by Tori Amos, #33 on the list, plays. Go down to the playlist, click on that song, then come back and resume reading. I'll wait...) (...still waiting...)

Never however the story it goes

never the princess with pink shiny toes

never the heroine, never the crime

never the one with the string on a dime

never the bride in her white wedding veil

always the dancing rain, always the hail

what you would write when you're locked up in jail,

"where is that girl with the spoon, pen, and pail?"

"where is the garden she brought with the mail?"

always a mermaid fin deep in her heart,

always an arrow and always a dart

always an angel there, perched with a harp

strings she is strumming so crisply, so sharp

songs she is writing and humming and then,

up in the hayloft she hums them again

and again and again and again and again

wondering when, she is wondering when

Honey that drips from a mouth to an ear

drip from the lips of one able to hear

thoughts she cannot think too loud or too clear

rips in her jeans from the wear, and a breeze

rips in her genes for the heir of deceased

green for the springtime and brown for the fall

always a tear for the memory of all

always a golden place, always a spark

always a rusting spot just after dark.

5/9/09

XOXO,

River Child

She is a river that I

cannot wade through;

too deep are it's currents

which lead to the sea,

and all of the dreams I

could never imagine

birthed in her the moment birth

pulled her

from me

I sit on her shore

and I watch as the water

laps playfully

carelessly

dodging my feet

She rushes ahead,

strong and sure,

and I hope

that she'll wave

once her river and ocean

tides meet

(She is a river that I

cannot wade through;

too deep are it's currents

which lead to the sea

and all of the dreams I

could never imagine

birthed in her the moment

birth pulled her

from me.

I sit on her shore,

and I watch as the water

laps playfully,

carelessly,

dodging my feet

She rushes ahead,

strong and sure and I

hope

that she'll wave once her

river and ocean

tides meet)