A benevolent view

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what you had always assumed

to be solid, now soggy sadness

water warped windows with

a view misguided, bended

memories altered the truth

will you forgive yourself

for all that was unseen before?

 

© Alicia Grimshaw 2018

Forgiving Fridays at Forgiving Connects

Invisible Weight

Your bones scream to rest

an anvil on your chest

no dawn comes lightly.

Invite the monster to sit with you

it gains ugliness with denial

put your arm around that which

you don’t want to hold.

© Alicia Grimshaw 2018

When you come out of the grips of a depression there is an incredible relief, but not one you feel allowed to celebrate. Instead, the feeling of victory is replaced with anxiety that it will happen again, and with shame and vulnerability when you see how your illness affected your family, your work, everything left untouched while you struggled to survive. We come back to life thinner, paler, weaker … but as survivors. Survivors who don’t get pats on the back from coworkers who congratulate them on making it.” – Jenny Lawson’s book  Furiously Happy

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Courage rides the train

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They stepped onto the train that day

unaware of the choice the ride included.

When the voice of hate screamed

the two stood as stone, unwilling to look away.

Unified strangers woven into a safety net

flung over the young ones

a protective cover given without request

those two hearts knew what freedom

to live without fear was worth.

The cost of standing up, as the train moved into tomorrow

was life itself.

In this morning’s memory mirror

I wonder if I would be brave enough

to ride as they did.

© Alicia Grimshaw 2018

Dedicated to the men who died a year ago in Portland, Oregon as they stood to defend two young women. My heart breaks for the loved ones of Ricky Best, father of four and US Army veteran, and Taliesan Namkai-Meche a recent college graduate. In honor of these two and the countless others who have stood up against hate please join me in acts of kindness wherever you live. Love is the only answer.

For more information read this Washington Post article, ‘Final act of bravery’: Men who were fatally stabbed trying to stop anti-Muslim rants identified

 

Anticipate

 

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My closed eyes wonder

have you been waiting for my call?

Are you one who waits?

One who waits to be

chosen

invited

picked?

Are you one who anticipates hopefully

rocking chair movement, back and forth

not going anywhere

waiting to open your door

find me standing before you?

Are you willing to be the one that shows up

arms wide, inviting in

the unprotected in downpour, ghostly gale,

frosty fear anticipating rejection?

Are you willing to hear the

no?

Are you open to the yes?

Which is more frightening?

© Ali Grimshaw 2017

 

 

 

 

Mirror of Love

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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

 

Distraction

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Blurred branches of feeling

the intersection of “Not good enough,”

and “You fell for that again?”

awkward limbs that cross

and cross again in confusion. While inches

of growth reach, stretch toward light.

The turbulent angles discretely covered

by feathered orange deliciousness.

A fancy distraction,

just like my sunglasses and hat

a layer of colors,

the perfect cover up to keep

my crack of failure private.

© Ali Grimshaw 2017

Orange

 

Weather Forecast

 

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Light does not fall on us equally.

There are hours of gentle illumination, while some remain in shadow.

Random flashes which leave you for no reason at the front of the line.

Or the end, randomly burned, scorched,

with head shaking disbelief. Tranquil dusk light on leaves.

Other days blinded into paralysis, unable to see a way forward.

 

I remain in a thundercloud waiting room, counting shadows like minutes.

Weatherizing my soul before the next hurricane.

Steadfast, determined in my stance, for a return of the glow

In stillness it will find me.

Sun’s warm hand on my back again.

This too shall pass.

© Ali Grimshaw 2017

Glow