At 89 she still wears high heels
with skinny straps and rhinestones,
she clicks right along in them
while holding onto my arm for balance.
I’m gonna wear high heels and big earrings
until I die, she declares.
Noticing the oncoming traffic she asks
if I’ll help her write her obituary.
I know she sees her future and it hurts me,
but I agree, knowing that even when
the final road is crossed
things will not be finished between us,
for love doesn’t understand
red lights, stop signs, or death.
©photo and poem by carole fults
I imagine you to have perfect vision
that sees dirt in the grout,
on the floor,
cobwebs in corners,
spider web in the lampshade,
dust balls under sofas,
the disorderly garage,
I clean all day
yet intractable unacceptability
bends to no cleanser
Finally I stop and sit
looking at my home.
I see no matter what I’ve cleaned, polished,
dusted or waxed
I’m here in the midst
of still more flaws,
my eyes eager to see you
voice ready to greet you
heart anxious to love you
arms impatient to hug you.
When you arrive in your road grimed car
I see lunch on your shirt,
smiles stretched large around aging teeth,
saggy arms spread wide as you can get them,
and we laugh and say
how happy we are to be together
and how perfect it all is.
© photo and poem by caf
One day Fear relaxed for a moment
and dreamed of
When Fear awoke
she was changed forever
into a multi colored river
uniting all the earth
and her new name was Love.
©photo and poem by Carole Fults
This morning the sky is water tower blue and
My heart is humming as I think about all the people I love
Those who are happy
Those who are suffering
Those who are happy but struggling
As I recall the faces
I wonder if there is something – anything –
I could give that would make their lives easier, happier, freer.
One time from an upstairs window I watched a robin
bring food to his nested young
who were chanting their hunger pangs
He placed an answer in their open, squeaking mouths.
One by one he fed them and still they hollered
their bellies craving more
I envied him – he had something to give to those he loved.
Often my giving feels inadequate to the love I hold
and sometimes giving something is easier than just saying
I love you, the love word being so awkward among us.
Sometimes anonymous love is easier.
I want you to know so there is no mistake …
if I give you something –
a hug, a piece of art, an offer of assistance, a kind word,
a smile, a plant, some money …
don’t think it’s given to retrieve something else …
nor is it given like winds that blow with mighty gusts
to spin you around or blow you away.
It is given by my human heart, a soft hand and a nervous hope
that the gift will please you and make you smile.
And here is the secret – if I give you something it probably means I love you,
But I won’t spoil it by actually telling you so.
© Poem and Photo by Carole A. Fults
She was a lover of Yardley’s lavender soap
and purple double petunia’s
She washed floors in a blue house dress
laced with small flowers
and crocheted rugs from bailing twine
and plastic bread wrappers
I heard she had beautiful long brown hair
that inspired my grandfather to write her love letters
on birch bark
although by the time I knew her
her hair was short and gray
and she said auburn is the best hair color.
She played with children
beckoning them through the woods
to a magic circle of peace where she would walk,
her tall sturdy frame leading the way around the path,
and if you followed her, you knew you were safe.
Then one day in my pockets I found judgments about
her judging me.
Now, I ask, how many times have fear and judgment broken
the spell of love?
If there is a lesson here
it’s that I wish I had struggled
through the currents of white faced fear
to get to the other side
Just so I could have loved in time.