​It is good
To have gone to the beach
When you were small
And, standing barefooted
At the edge of the sea,
Closed your eyes
Going all off kilter when foaming swirls
Washed away the earth beneath your feet - 
So that some day
When the rug is pulled out
You’ll remember,
In a whisper or a rush,
That you survived this once before,
And you will,
By God,
Do it again.

This poem and alcohol ink art were done in response to a piece from Callie Fayen over at Tweetspeak Poetry: Writing Prompt: Beach Metaphors. 

​In grieving,
old language
requires new effort.

I no longer am her daughter.
I was.

She no longer has a smile.
She had.

We no longer are.
We were.

But, still  
there are cardinals,
their red wings flashing
like a heartbeat
retracing her flight.

​Hello said the woman
With silvered streaks
Scattered on aging strands
Framing her delicate face.
 
Aren’t you the blue eyed child
Who would not stop singing
No matter where she was,
No matter what they said or did?           Wait.      WAIT.
 
You remind me of that hungry teen
Asleep with a six stringed friend
Balanced on her belly, moving to the beat
Of her own rise and fall rise and fall rise and fall.         WAIT.      Wait.
 
Wasn’t that you who saw
God like a dervish
Whirling a golden pool of crackling power,
Touching all of life?             You         look         so       familiar.
 
Will you sing? she asked.
Amazing Grace floated up like mist.
Tears flowed down
Like streams in the hills.

The woman kissed two fingers, 
Pressed them to the nose, holding steady there
In the glass, whispering 
​I remember.

Inspired by a Tweetspeak Poetry poetry prompt: Things Inivisble.