I will walk away say adieu

Before you…

Before you have a chance to destroy

That of me which I love most

Since you do not comprehend

What is unique about us

In all the world

Or maybe you do…

More than I am willing to let in

I will make it easier for you

I will walk away say goodbye

Before you…

Before the destruction

Of the best of us.

And should you remember

Some forgotten spring

When citrus permeates the wind

Remember this…

I was the best me with you

That I have ever been.

All rights reserved.  ©2011 by Sara Fryd

Today…

Like the wallaby stuck on the rock

Engulfed by floodwaters in Queensland AU

I watched in horror

A family’s grief at the loss of a daughter

Not my daughter

Someone else’s child still dreaming

Of becoming a Congresswoman

Or maybe the President

The first woman of America

To receive that title

Who loved jumping in rain puddles

Like me…

Who loves the August afternoon monsoons

In the Arizona desert

More than Godiva bittersweet

She became everyone’s child

On Saturday morning last

Because God slipped away

To save another, she died

At the hand of a stranger with a gun

Inauspiciously, this nine-year-old

Held the heartstrings of a nation

And brought the universe to its knees

When the President reminded us

“…she is playing in rain puddles in heaven…”

This mother wept, reminding herself

They’re only words, meanings that unleash tears

And in the end, how can you explain

The grief of a mother in words

Anyway…

When God slips away.

All rights reserved.  ©2011 by Sara Fryd

of bars on windows

types of locks on gates

holding us in

with no skin

to protect the soul

All rights reserved.  ©2009 by Sara Fryd

      for listening quietly

as you ate your lunch

letting me release

     all my hurt

my pain

       my anger

my broken dreams on you.

Like a rain storm

       in the desert

Yesterday…

I rained all over you.

All rights reserved.  ©2009 by Sara Fryd

He waited…

His face stuck against the seventh floor window.

Waited for someone to come, to visit.

The only thing he saw at that height

Were birds and window washers.

Where are they all?

The nephews, nieces, children, grandchildren?

The ones remembered

With presents on their birthdays.

Always an excuse, a reason, another day

Maybe another birthday

Sunday spent alone…

Alone with strangers…

Playing Scrabble waiting for the phone to ring.

Like seagulls after scraps with wings outstretched

They were there

When his furniture needed a new home

Mementos were given away

Valuables being passed out.

So he read and studied through the days

Counted ceiling tiles at night

And waited to die.

They forgot…

Forgot about all the times

He got up at the crack of dawn

So there were always cookies

Around when they were hungry.

Forgot about all the colds he cured

            all the people he helped

            all the stories he told

       over and over, again.

So he wouldn’t be left alone again

            alone with strangers…

I wonder if any of them understand.

The ones who will spend his money.

What it’s like to be eighty-seven

            and know you’re never going home?

*Jack was my father-in-law and my friend. 

          like you promised

I cried myself to sleep…

If only you understood

          the subtleties

that teach each of us

          to trust or not.

You would never again

          make me a promise

          you did not intend to keep.                                    

Knowing…                                  

That I’m trusting you with my heart.

Then leave me waiting…                                    

Waiting…                                     

Like you did last night

          to cry myself to sleep.

All rights reserved.  ©2009 by Sara Fryd

Balloon by Sara Fryd

God…

Please decorate

the sky with clouds today

Because without you,

it’s blue

and lonely just like

me.

All rights reserved.  ©2009 by Sara Fryd