Southern Backroads (a poem)

Sometimes I think of our love
as though it’s an old Southern backroad
You’re in the driver’s seat
my feet are on the dash
The roads are curvy and dictate our speed
sometimes we take them slow, sometimes fast
At times they’re the straightest path
with fields of corn on either side
There are moments of fear
but also moments of pure joy
Those old Southern backroads
can go on forever, with no end in sight
Many times you ride those roads
with your most trusted companion
Those Southern backroads are an adventure like none other
and it’s only you I want by my side.

You Built Me Palaces out of Paragraphs

Most of our country has been in some form of quarantine or social distancing for about three and a half months.  I was sent home from work on March 5 because I had a sneeze. Fear was already high in the Philadelphia area. Those first eight days, I had some freedom – I still went to teach at religious school the following Sunday and Wednesday in New Jersey.  I had no idea that a few days later, my entire office would be sent home, and our state would put in place a stay-at-home order.

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Love is a Type of Water

As a child, at least as a child growing up heavily in church as I did, you are taught to memorize verse after verse. I remember most of the verses, even if it’s not word-for-word and the exact location. I can hold my own in an intellectual, biblical conversation. Its one of the things I’m most proud of about myself.

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Pray for You

Prayer has always been a major part of my life. I remember kneeling next to my bed as a little girl to pray. I even loved when I was old enough to lead my family in our dinner prayers, which sometimes felt like a sermon because I got lost on tangents and just love talking (even to God)!

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Carnival Games (a poem)

It’s 6:48 am and I am walking onto a bus
We are no longer able to be alone
The government has deemed we must stay together

This is my first day on the bus – I thought I would be on it longer
My start time is at 11:42 am

As I am ushered off the bus after twenty-five minutes
I am given directions on my phone and told to stay with the group
I must plan my escape, I must be alone

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Complicated Love

I’ve got a thing for love.  I love love. And love, the love that is real, typically seems to be complicated.

If you ask me what book I’d want if I could only ever have one book for the rest of my life?  It would probably be Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. If I could only watch one movie for the rest of my life? You’ve Got Mail.  Both of these speak to my heart in a way that not much else does.

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Thunderous Rasp of Breath (a poem)

Dark Night, cold Breeze
From the circling fan above.
There is no sound,
Yet that of thunderstorms.
Pressure on my feet
And slight movement all around.
However life seems still,
When the thunderous rasp of breath
Is not to my right.
Sheep and stars do not help,
The darkness only reminds me I am alone.

(Photo by Ryan Phillips on Unsplash)