cross-stitch from the grandmother I didn’t meet: “Put the coffee on”
My poem was published first in Parnassus Literary Journal (2004); and then reprinted as part of my page, Ellen Olinger – Three Questions, a haiku series edited by Curtis Dunlap.
When we began this blog on December 19, 2009, one of my goals was to reprint published poems and say “thank you” to the editors and all involved with the journals. “Deeper Places” has found many homes, and the poem was the first post here. It is an old poem, and I’d like to share again as written then, and then reflect upon a few thoughts now. Thank you.
I want to live in the deeper places
where flowers always get to bloom at their appointed time
and are loved as much weathered and dormant and covered with snow
I want to live in the deeper places
where loss is felt tears are cried and night becomes a friend
and then loss dies too new life arrives again
Oh, I want to live in the deeper places
Published in Time of Singing (2003); Bell’s Letters (2004);The Discerning Poet (2004); Blogging Along Tobacco Road (2009); Bell’s Letters (2009).
The Raymond Flory Explorer Award (2010). The Eve Jeanette Blohm Award (2010). Both awards through Bell’s Letters Poet.
I have continued to develop these thoughts over the years in poetry and prose. New life has arrived again in many ways. My father died when I was 29, and I was in the hospital for my 40th birthday. Loss did not die, but rather was transformed. I learned that new events may bring back old memories, and that love endures and grows. My health problems young made me a better caregiver for my mother. I was reading Luci Shaw again yesterday, and she shares about her aging in a generous way. Her poetry and memoirs are a part of my life.
Karl’s photo of the swans on Lake Michigan is from several years ago.
I turn off the extra low energy light by the stairs that is left on through the night along with other lights
safety features already in place and also more now that I know about from the years of helping with my mother’s care
I learned so much from my mother, all those years ago. She always asked, “Are you writing?” Not so much then, and that is fine. Now I write all the time.