Sara Arizona » relationships

After Shave

Sara Fryd — Sun, 07 Aug 2011 18:11:00 +0000

The car engulfed

with waves of mulled citrus mist

warmed by your face watching mine

in the mirror from the hallway

as I lacquer on deep burgundy

candy apple lipstick

before the sun awakes early

April morning.

Memories of orange blossoms

permeating the night sky

on Route 66…

the beige top down on

the old black convertible with red leather seats

When I was eighteen and Steven French kissed me

behind Paradise Mountain

where the sheriff watched

with the gigantic flashlight

and I was told “good girls” never go

alone.

Underneath the auburn henna

graying hair peeks.

Longer jackets of fine silk smooth the hips

and lengthen the torso.

Longer skirts cover the knees.

And still…

I am overwhelmed by emotions

that smother my driving

North on the 605

with one whiff of warm mulled citrus

transferred from your face

to my sheerest pink silk blouse

during our dark, early morning embraces

that still make my knees week an hour later

my heart pound.

Remembering again how it felt

to be wide-eyed, eighteen

and waiting for my prince.

Enveloped

Sara Fryd — Sun, 03 Jul 2011 18:11:26 +0000

feelings envelop me

in multiple shades of gray

all tangled with pleasure and pain

can’t seem to detach

your thoughts

your feelings from my own

our souls entangled

your dreams with mine

entwined imperceptibly

like bodies that have lain together

so many nights

they’ve memorized each other’s

curves and edges

as if by heart

never quite remembering

where one soul begins

where the other leaves off

Goodbye

Sara Fryd — Tue, 21 Jun 2011 18:11:45 +0000

Thank you

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.

Me, New & Improved

Sara Fryd — Wed, 25 May 2011 18:11:03 +0000

Feelings…

like butterflies

in spring

are coming

in all directions at once.

An open book

every nuance

written on my face

in my eyes.

Like seventh grade

when every look

every boy

crushed your ego, or

broke your heart.

Has it been…

so long

since anyone

touched me

that all my feelings…

are coming

like butterflies

in spring

in all directions

at once.

Mother of the Bride

Sara Fryd — Sun, 22 May 2011 18:11:43 +0000

It takes courage to stand tall

when we feel our wounds so visible

worried that all will witness our pain…

Courage and bravery…

strength beyond words.

You present yourself with such grace

with such dignity, head held high

turning your face to the light

letting the sun warm your soul

knowing that you have…

God’s blessings at your finger tips.

For God lives next to a rose bush.

Every prayer a new rose.

Every hurtful thought a thorn.

If we are willing…

we replace our hurtful thoughts

with thoughts of joy.

We can carry with us

the strength of the thorn

the beauty of the rose

And we are never, ever alone.

*Note: Years ago I was invited to a friends wedding and advised in advance that the Mother of the Bride had recently been left for a younger women. The Father was coming to his daughter’s wedding with his new bride. I included this poem with a thank you note for inviting me.

My Brother’s Keeper

Sara Fryd — Fri, 20 May 2011 18:11:04 +0000

We were inseparable

Sisters born in an hour of desperation

Of need, of my divorce

I believed we would last forever

Sisters by choice not birth

There are friends capable of loving you

Needy, broken, damaged

Capable of control, of ownership

Incapable of loving you

Strong, courageous, full of joy

We were never to be forever

Then life happened…

I chose freedom, kindness, growth

I chose learning, sunshine, joy

Walking my own path

Of independence, of kindness

We were no more to be

Thirty years disappears

In seconds…

Befriended on Facebook

I read, “You are a poet.”

My mind answers silently, “Well, duh.”

I realize…

I’m not afraid of you anymore.

My Friend a Daddy

Sara Fryd — Thu, 19 May 2011 18:11:07 +0000

Everyday, somewhere a child

stares out a window

Waiting…

for Dad to come home.

It doesn’t matter what kind of work he does

(though a fireman or race car driver would be great).

It doesn’t matter how much money he makes

(though getting a new bike is better than not).

It doesn’t matter how tall he is or what clothes he wears

(though 501s and Nikes are cooler

than Brooks Brothers and wing tips).

What matters is hearing the sound of him coming home

his voice saying your great

his hug keeping you safe

his kiss on top of your head

assuring you it will be okay.

Of all the words I’ll ever hear

of all the folks I’ll ever meet

of all the roads I’ll walk along

Nothing will ever make me feel as safe

as important, as sure,

as carrying my Daddy inside my heart

next to my soul.

Where he can keep me safe whenever I need him to.

*for Nicholas J Baracco, Massepequa, NY

Some Men

Sara Fryd — Thu, 07 Apr 2011 18:11:38 +0000

Some men

have a way of looking inside

finding the best you have to offer

then putting it on

the outside

for all the world to see.

When you’ve been in their presence

you begin to feel beautiful

begin to experience a you,

you didn’t even know was possible.

All because…

Because, they took a little time

to see the soul

waiting

wondering

just past the wrinkles.

Surgery

Sara Fryd — Mon, 21 Mar 2011 07:11:55 +0000

Not all operations

take place in hospitals.

Some men,

like surgeons

so deftly trespass

on your life

your body

your soul

and never even

stay for dinner.

The Waltz

Sara Fryd — Fri, 11 Feb 2011 18:11:22 +0000

He said she loved the waltz.

The dance between a woman

and the man who knew

how to make her feel

a cherished treasure.

validated…

known…

in the affirmative

in silence.

He knew how she felt inside

when words wouldn’t come

and only feelings

spilled all over her skin

that no longer fit…

water cascading

from a pitcher held by angels’ hands

painting striated canyon walls

…D

…O

…W

…N

the Havasupai Falls and

her…

Volcanoes Erupting

Sara Fryd — Sun, 30 Jan 2011 18:11:11 +0000

Feelings…

…unacknowledged since childhood

are erupting

like open wounds

not properly cleansed with antiseptic.

Mourning my losses

resolving my fears

become the purpose of each day.

Emotional scars

ignored too long,

forgotten,

locked away

deep in ones’ subconscious,

not dealt with,

stuffed so deep

one hardly remembers…

…becomes the molten lava,

expanding from inside out,

ultimately,

irrevocably,

pushing away

all those relationships

that finally come to us

with open arms.