By knowing you,
I find myself.
Now and 90 years wrinkled.
My doubts don’t exist in your eyes.
You see the chipped edges
scars of failed attempts
places worn raw from not retreating.
The rough, abeyant curves of my puzzle.
You see my essence of spirit
gently hold it all up,
a mirror before me,
now I can see,
for myself,
who I am becoming.
Revised version of the original poem shared in 2016
© Ali Grimshaw 2017
Please return the glass bowl
the one with the orange lid.
Surely it is empty now, alone
on the shelf or behind the rice jar.
It is not that I am in need,
I just found myself thinking
of its emptiness, a hollow of cold.
Loneliness I wish to fill with warmth of soup.
One spoon of comfort at a time
to refill yourself
on Tuesday night
after the day’s work is done.
© Ali Grimshaw 2017
He brings me leaves, one each day
a contrast in shape
varied vibrancy, coral to ripe peach
left on the kitchen counter
until evening arrives at our window.
Held in his palm, this single
donation, color story of today.
Our eyes meet the wrinkles, textured hues, imperfect edges.
Our hands hold a temporary prize between us
a cherishing.
Trees give without expecting
something in return. Thankfully,
so does he.
© Ali Grimshaw 2016
May you find someone to share the beauty of nature with today. Happy Thanksgiving.
To lose you
would be a sea without waves
moan of Winter wind
outside as I lay cold in bed.
To lose you
would be the wilt of wildflowers
a bow of small heads around the globe.
My eyes squeezed shut
effort of not remembering.
To lose you
would be loss for those
yet to hear your hearty chuckle,
low and warm
its own kind of song.
© Ali Grimshaw 2017
What used to feel immense
bewildering to follow
was now only steps away
like a runway lit up
with clear directional intention
She knew. Undeniable as the sky
the river of calm inside her.
This choice as easy as avoiding
sidewalk cracks. And there he stood.
Touching him. Toward together.
Their waters join
to flow toward the ocean.
© Alicia Grimshaw 2017
Like the filthy inside out sock
squished at the bottom of the hamper
under stench of damp rags.
Life can feel like that place.
Maybe it is time to do some laundry.
There is no rule, no prize for
handling it alone,
an unnecessary isolation.
The borrowed red sweatshirt
arms wide on the top of the mound
is not an accidental reminder of love.
Call. Just call.
Call before you change your mind.
That someone has seen dirt before
and will listen.
© Alicia Grimshaw 2017
If you are struggling today check out this blog, The Mighty, You are not alone.
Will you?
Fall, drift, yield
hand in hand,
warm kiss of palms,
veins of life intertwined,
before we,
plunge through crispness
to the other side
of golden.
© Alicia Grimshaw 2017
Now I sit in thought with
what I wish
I would have said
instead of that which came flying off my tongue
like butterflies leaving my mouth
beautiful at first sight
fluttering innocently toward you
with a closer look
upon landing
were really illegal firecrackers
of golden red that
left you speechless.
I’m sorry.
© Ali Grimshaw 2017
Forgive your mistakes. Forgiving Connects.
As I traverse
what do my footprints say?
Those who walk beside
a step behind and to the left will
see them. Mud messages dried
to become solid.
When my legs no longer walk
my tacks will speak out
a decodable message.
I hope you decipher
“Don’t give up.
Keep looking for the footprints
I am with you.”
© Alicia Grimshaw 2017
In dedication to Mother Teresa (1910 – 1997) “Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.”
flashlight batteries - Ali Grimshaw 