Beyond velvet purpled mountains,
beyond my reach
the golden globe
of life
sinks.

Nearer to me
tender stems of paloverde
play in a breeze so gentle
while roots
strengthen their grip
within the earth

Do others hear
winds whisper
through these thorned limbs
and not hear their cries?

Am I only
aware of blood
trickling
from it's outstretched veins
oozing
from gnarled joints
saturating the ground
with darkened pools of pain?

I a fading world
this paloverde and I
wait, wait
for the black of night

THE ROSE


One by one my four young children walked to their fathers' grave and placed a blood red rose on his casket. I sat as if welded to the metal chair, motionless, disconnected, numb. Only the whirl of wind through nearby trees swept through my head.

It would have been a blessing, a final compliment to a man who left his family emotionally and physically damaged. That single blood red rose would acknowledge the end of an honorable life. Was it five minutes? Ten, thirty? I turned my head, saw the questioning in the Rabbis' eyes. The Cantor was shifting from one foot to the other. The professional wailers with their heads bent toward me appeared annoyed. My ten year old son, Michael put his hand on my arm. He whispered "Mom!". I could not nor would not move.

The Rabbi went on with the service. I cannot recall any other part of it. When others around me began to stand, my children gathered in front of me. We, as one, moved slowly through those who had come to pay their last respects. Respects? Respect?

I did what I'd always done. I smiled at each person there. I thanked them and asked how they were doing. I was not the expected grieving widow.


My children and I huddled in the back seat of the funeral limousine. The last time I'd ridden in a limo was the day of our marriage. The distance of time, eighteen years, was a blur. I was confused and overwhelmed. My body numb. Katie, six years old, sat on my lap. Her small arms wrapped tightly around my neck. Her precious face nuzzled on my chest. I held her tight. I still held that damn rose in my hand. I didn't want my children to see me dispose of it. I slipped my hand down, dropped it just under the seat. With the heel of my shoe I grounded into the floor. We shed no tears. We sat in a stupor, silent. The limo left us in front of our home. We walked in. I closed the door.

SEDONA CREEK



Within the expanses

of nature

The Great Spirit of existence

breathes life.

Intuitive messages swirl

down and around and through

trees,canyons, mesas, dried creeks



Messages of time

of lessons learned

and knowledge exposed


Unseen, the wind directs its breath,

murmering, then silence, rest.

This stillness within natures' nest

brings a wisdom from the

beginning of time, settling within

our souls.



Trust it. It will gently

lead us toward everlasting

harmony and peace.

REHAB


Manny glares upward into the eyes of the psychiatrist.

Dr. Rosen looks down,

Manny spins his wheelchair

toward the blank wall.



There won't be another chance.

This is the last.

Your cyclic returns from the same crowd,

same drugs. Despair is a statement.

Leave now

and there won't be another chance.



A silver chain lay twisted

around Manny's sweaty neck.

Jesus' tormented body stretched

on the cross that rests

on his chest.



Is God a mirage we crawl

through burning desert toward?

Is the answer above us,

below, or within?



The sides of Mannys greased black hair

sweeps back, blending with it's length.

A bold mustache quivers

machisimo emanates from his legless upper body

tense, full of fight.

Damn those betraying stumps.

Damn the doctor.

Damn life.



Manny clenches his fists.

Raw guteral screams

pierce the air like hellish flames.

Sobs bellow filling the room

and down the halls

echoing again and again.