March 16, 2010 Candace Morris 7 Comments


two million
around the

scribbles and scratches and records of validation.
write, my sweet sister.

but there is good.
good in the misty fog.
good in the sunshine.
good in the sweetest of baby girls.

good in the mid-century modern
and good in strawberries.

and when there are so many things to miss,
and so many new reasons to be angry,
and so many questions,
and so many unconscionable answers,
and so many voices to filter,
and so many reflections to combat,
and so many points of order to attend to,
and so much future to be afraid of,
and so much past to be rehashed,
and so many bottles to wash.
and so little sleep to be had.

this goodness reminds three lovely ladies that
forever and ever
there is
new growth.
and there will be new
things to miss,
questions to pose,
reflections to love,
answers to be found,
american spirits to be ignited,
sleep to be slept,
 and voices to love.

On the back-porch of our eternity,
in the bottom of our bottles,
in the packs of smokes...
we shall recover. I just know it.

From this fire, she emerges so kind, so calm, so soft, so empowered.

And she even let me borrow her shirt.
Full well knowing I ruin all her clothes.

You, my big sister,
you are still one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen...
Since first I began to see.
And saw you looking down at me with those big, kind eyes.

May our minds be kind to us.

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