poetry

The fern, it curls itself

Into the shape of my love

People ask me what it is

But I don’t tell them – not really

They think it’s a scorpion

Or some other many-legged thing

But, no.

All resin and wire

A bird winging its way behind

The wood grain

It holds eight years

Houses the memory

Of a day all soft and lovely

Resting on my chest

the assignment was to write a sonnet about a beloved "talisman"...
not sure i really have something like that, so i kept it simple and abstract :)

thankful for...
56. canvaschild, thelifeartist, anamcara, aholyexperience... that breathe truth to my jesus-seeker-lover-artist soul
57. a community i can engage with more than once a week
58. a husband who cares enough about the deep-heart-things of life to work through the sucky conversations it takes to get there
59. art awakening my soul to its long-lost shape and to the desire to create and love
60. kicks that are more than flutters - moving my belly visibly and warning of the active-boy that is to come!
61. the chance to sit quietly in a coffee shop and read, write, flip through art magazines
62. painting alongside joey
63. eight months of finally (after 2+ years) sleeping through the night before baby #2 comes
64. an invitation to fight for the hearts of women
65. the details - lace on a top, embossed tiny flowers on a mug, a flower in the hair