Advent Poems – 3, 4, 5, 6

Here are the next few… Poem 3 was an interesting exercise, end words beginning with the letters in my name.

italian fashion people woman

of me

Fifty-four years have gone ‘round.
Numerous loves – escaped.
Some in agony, others in beauty.
People and moments, eclipsed
by the new, or purposely culled
from these memories I’ve curated.
Now, moving forward with anticipation,
of the next who, where, and why,
I find my adventures to be indulgent.
Escapes – searching, longing
for passions previously sidelined.
I glimpse my future but, it’s obscured
by my failing to settle for whatever’s next.
©Rebecca Wilson, 2020

photo of great egret standing on grass near body of water

Grounded

Eight daily video conferences,
six cranky co-workers,
four months of nights and weekends,
two weeks until Christmas equal
one splitting headache.
Escape. I just need to.
Leave my phone behind and
walk away.
To the nature preserve and
watch the egrets and pelicans,
who worry for nothing,
and remind me that there,
and here,
are greater things than
paychecks and promotions.
So, I sit on the bench
at the salt water’s edge
close my eyes
and breathe.
Just
breathe.
©Rebecca Wilson, 2020

Time-traveler
Hoping forward years
I peek in on my life,
catching a glimpse
now and then,
of the harvest
from these seeds
I’ve sown.

The fields lay bare
Scorched earth and
charred dirt.
Nothing worth the time
And tears I plowed

Others are in bloom.
Glorious and fruitful.
Those were the fields
where I toiled for
The Master.

If I just remind myself
of where the value
really resides.
But, foolish
and stubborn
I will waste seed
working on my own.
Fool for a master.

Rebecca Wilson, 2020

low angle photo of highrise building

In the Nights Before Christmas
Something that stemmed,
accidentally, from homelessness.
Snuggled in donated blankets,
wearing all we owned.

Sheltered in an old, cranky Buick
with bald tires and a big back seat.
I drove around neighborhoods
trying to find safety for the night.

Distracting my little ones
with exclamations about the lights.
Milk, with melted candy,
to keep the wolves of hunger at bay.

As I bootstrapped our way
from the bottom to a safer life
each Christmas Eve,
I toured around our past.

Recognizing how far “up” has been.
Blessings counted and numbered.
Yearly, as my children grew,
I built a new tradition

(Now in luxury with
heat and store bought cocoa)
to tour the lights
in the dark of night;

remembering.
Thankfully remembering.
©Rebecca Wilson, 2020

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