Mother of the Flock (Fall 2007)

Oh, mother of the flock,
how tender is thy love,
weary am I
and bury my face in thy
gentle feathers,
asleep I
fly,
And
Awake,
only to find
rays of golden
sunlight
revealing the horizon
Mother of the flock,
thou art my guardian,
tender, gentle, and strong heart
..............grace............ soaring
............soothing......... pulling me
...............my.................. upward
..............youth................ onward
......................to that horizon
......................of golden sunlight

Barcelona in June (2007)

I’m on the edge of a city sitting in the sand thinking about her. How she calls herself Mummy to Joseph. He the youngest, thirteen, and she holds on in that word which binds up all the diapers, all the pains, sleepless nights, worries, meals, bills, soothers, an infinity of everything she is. And all I want is to call her Mummy to hold on to her as long as I can. It’s all I want.

Eurovillas Spain (2007)

It’s the evening of May 27. I’m in the salón, my only salón in Spain. It is here in this house where I spent my first 6 months immersed in a culture and a language that I came to know and now three years later, Michael and I are celebrating, our birthday with my Spanish family. We have finished la comida, the table has been cleared, I’m sitting on la sofá, and my móvil rings; I say ¿Hola? And then there is a voice singing, that same voice that sang to me, “rain drops on roses, whiskers on kittens, these are my favorite things” as I lay a child listening. Happy Birthday to you, Happy birthday to you....