“More and more now we slip
Into this tone of voice, the hush
Of people talking about someone
Who has just died, only
No one has died.”
–Tracy K. Smith, from Driving to Ottawa, Wade in the Water
More and more now…
Tag: Poetry
Cravings
Empty.
Yearning.
She craves the raspy-nothing of sandpaper
to free her from
skin.
To open her to the light flash whiteness of wider, more infinite
skies
plains
roads
heavens
twilight
living
being.
Sun to bleach her bones.
Cravings unsated, raw.
Itching for release
and
redemption.
–Charla M. DelaCuadra
Grateful
stretching in the feeble new sunlight
of a fresh dawn
hazy-bright with fledgling possibilities
to be coaxed into being
gently, hopefully
cradled and sheltered
are new chances
While I decided long ago that having children was not for me, I will always be awed and grateful for my mom and all she does. Not only is she one of the most selfless women I know, but it takes a special kind of bravery to reinvent oneself, to work on one’s flaws, and to examine one’s life and say, “I want something better.” I wrote this poem for my mother a while ago and wanted to share it here, in the spirit of spring and of celebrating nurturing women everywhere.
ponderings
What is the nature of wanting?
Of contentment?
How can those slippery not-quite things
be found?
be sated?
be kept?
be held on to?
–Charla M. DelaCuadra
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about disquiet, and about contentment and happiness. As we step forward into the week, here is a poem I wrote some time ago, compact in size but broad in scope. Some thoughts to ponder.
father/time
father/time
so passes
the golden autumn
of this world
into a dark/light place
made of lengthening shadows
and warm tender moments alike.
poignant relief marks the passing
of each second and season,
pearls on a string slipping away
through fingers
roughened by time,
all the more cherished
for that which has gnarled them.
fear not,
though a shadow passes over your eyes
at the thought
of things unknown.
in the end,
you are loved.
–Charla M. DelaCuadra
One of the difficulties in getting older is watching your parents age. It is bittersweet, getting to know your parents better as adults and as people, while also watching the twilight years of someone you love. I wrote this poem with my dad in mind, who is in his eighties and is having some health issues. While we all struggle with things like money, our houses or vacation time, or our goals both long-term and fleeting — I think in the end, we all just want to be loved.
Pink&GreenMusings 