The rug that hung over the roll-top desk Remember when we bought the rug that hung over the roll-top desk? The one we purchased for that empty white wall in the new house we were moving into? Where the previous owners had some ridiculous stuffed animal head – was it a 6-pointed deer? – mounted dead center over a dark blue velour sofa? The one we found during our summer holiday in 2001 on Santorini, our first Greek Cyclades island adventure? In the shop with other hand-made delectables, like pillow covers and table cloths? Where you could almost feel them sitting next to you, the Greek women in their wrinkled black cotton dresses stitching with their papery, well worked hands? Remember how perfect we thought the rug was for the space? How together we picked a curtain rod and hooks – that you painted black - from which to display it? Oh, to see it as we came down the stairs, across the vaulted ceiling, sweetening the living room with her fragrant flowers! So many times I sat in the old white Naugahyde chair, my feet propped on the ottoman, admiring the symmetry of the design. Yes, and the little giggle of joy I felt when I could discern the little hearts that formed the petals of the flowers, And thought what a perfect way to celebrate our love, with the rug that hung over the roll-top desk.
melting together I long for his heart to open like a gate onto an open prairie covered with wildflowers. Where, we can meet and melt into each other like the sun and sky at dusk.
Just a little love poem I wrote…
It’s also part of a collection I put together called All the Shapes of Joy.
This poem was written in response to a prompt in How to Write Poetry: A Guided Journal with Prompts to Ignite Your Imagination related to imagery. The recommendation was to make a list of images conveying grief, anger and love ( I added delight since that is what I happened to be feeling a the time), and then exploring what they have in common.
Cousins I grieve with a deep ache a longing for something lost; I hold an emptiness as thick as a 500-year old tree. I delight with a child’s joy a spontaneous spirit; an unbound energy as light as the free-flowing air we breathe. I anger filled with fear a disconnect with my Self; an instant reaction as sharp as the blade of the kitchen knife. I love my heart wide open a need to touch something true; feeling for solid ground as real as the earth below my two feet. In life’s vast field, grief and delight, anger and love play like cousins in the grass of spring.
This poem is part of an online collection I call Meditative Blossoms.