Scarlet dreams in white silence course through my veins in autumn contemplation. Will it ever be the same? Two years of you and me in our haven of unreality. Us against the virulent, vicious world. And then through the cracks of our front door, a sliver of light of tomorrows whispered, beckoned, lured, you and […]
Many of you have seen my post here about the Pandemic Haibun Challengethat’s currently underway in my publication, A Cornered Gurl via Medium. Above is a response to it from a writer here in our WordPress community, Sangeetha. I follow her for the depth of her words, her strength of brevity, and the creativity she wields that has no end.
This haibun touched me and moved me, and I am thankful for this community.
Dear God, please help me to recognize the wolf in the sheep. Amen. — Tremaine L. Loadholt
I cannot say I have been your most humble servant, but I have served. I have been patient. I have been kind — albeit, for the days when my body aches and a few people tap dance on my nerves, I have been kind. I have forgiven the unforgivable. I have shown grace to the intolerable. I have spotted flaws and continual mishaps in those closest to me, and I have overlooked them — choosing to spot the mistakes and faults in myself and work on those, instead.
I do have a spotty temper. It appears when I least expect it, and I try to center myself in a place where peace will leave my mouth instead of pain/hurt/anguish. I don’t want to be one of those hurt people who hurt people. You know my heart.
Father give me peace in this treacherous, sick world I am yours to mold
There are some who are flocking toward me. Their presence seems odd — out of place. I am not familiar with the approaches they have. Are they here to help me or are they here to harm me? Please show me the wolf in the sheep. Help me determine who I should lean into and who I should fall away from.
I am trying to honor your word. I am trying to keep your commandments. But I am human, and by design, I falter. I stumble. I make horrible decisions and seek your counsel afterward. Yahweh, God of all, lend me the intelligence to seek out those who have knives ready to stab me in the back yet greet me with smiles regularly.
I desire more growth but change begins with my heart make me heaven’s gift
With her flirtatious spirit, summer is nearly here, and the dog and I trot up the hills–pacing with matching breaths. I wait for her to catch up with me–her old limbs slowly bending in the direction of our journey. She is cautious but she is carefree. She looks to her right and to her left, stops to sniff the grass, then uses every thistle as her personal licking buddy. I know not of what she’ll find. I stand patiently waiting for her to join me once again.
The sun hasn’t fully awakened–its eyes not yet focused on our backs, so we walk toward the wind. I smile at my neighbors, nod a “Hello,” and gently pull Jernee closer to me. I take no chances. Some people love to approach dog owners, and usually, I am okay with company but the pandemic’s ongoing stay has me even more skeptical of allowing space. We circle the block, breathe in and breathe out, and welcome our home away from home. We finally made it.
a long morning walk with my old girl by my side escaping summer
Delores leaned into her son’s embrace. He’d been promoted to area manager of his engineering firm. The promotion came with a corner office with an exceptional view of the city, and a $25,000 per year increase. He’d worked hard for it–harder than most.
The sacrifices he made never met his mother’s ears. The people he manipulated, the women he raped, and the old neighbors from which he stole. He lived in lost moments of time, pursuing what he wanted and never what he needed. He’d step on the backs of everyone to get where he was all over again.
And his beautiful, loving, and clueless mother could never, would ever know it.
An evil con-man steps on the backs of others breaks the moon in half
The dog and I walk our path just as we do each morning–the gift of sun and a slight breeze await us. We breathe in the fresh air and breathe out the peace of another day beginning. In this part of the South, Spring greets us just as she should, but she has on her wings a thick strip of pollen to sprinkle everywhere as she sashays by.
I am an allergy sufferer–one of 50 million in the United States. The culprits? Pollen and shellfish (when not eaten in moderation). As much as I love to feel the sun’s rays beam down on my skin, during the spring months, I suffer the worst. The dog–also not too keen on pollen, does her share of sneezing and coughing. While I take a Claritin-D every morning, I also do nasal spray, and eye drops, and I sometimes have to take two Benadryl at night if the pollen count has been extremely high during that day.
I’m no stranger to Spring’s many gifts and I appreciate life awakening from the dead when she comes around. She lends us the beauty of sunny and longer days, the peace that can be found in birdsong, the cheerful laughter of children’s voices, beautiful blooms on trees and bushes, and wearing less clothing because of warmer temperatures.
But she can be vindictive, too.
It comes at a high cost when you’re an allergy sufferer. Spring can be your best friend or your worst enemy. I try to find the beauty in her without slashing away at her for the many days I struggle to breathe. I try to focus on the positive rather than the negative. I love the newness that surrounds me when she makes an entrance.
At least I know, I’ll garner more photos to look back on when I need a quick pick-me-up.
Spring–dawn’s gift to us comes at a high cost sometimes yet we welcome her.
I tell myself, I am glad you did not live to see this world as it unravels right before our eyes. Destruction is at every turn; children bombed, mothers, sons, families scrambling to leave home . . . the home they have always known. We would have talked about this — voiced our disdain for the evil of this world, yet we would have mentioned our gratefulness too. There is this gaping hole in my heart I have been struggling to fill, and the only thing I can do is write — write about you; about your smile, about your love, about the way you never bit your tongue.
All I can do is just write, and pray this hole fills itself with something — someone — anything else soon.
a piece of my heart is buried in this cold world my cousin is gone
A Cornered Gurl 
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