Michael Stephen Daigle's Blog, page 3

White dress waiting

Where to find her

With everything bottled up,

When to sound those words is relief.

Say a word; say two.

Whisper, then scream.

Listen.

She waits.

A catch in her voice,

Something soft that stings.

She waits.

The white dress clings,

Hangs from a shoulder.

Time circles, not endless.

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The white dress and starlight

She’s in your hand when you hold it to the sky.

The simple silent voice she cast returns.

That’s the thing about love.

It floats, hides at time and filters back

Like starlight once around  the sun;

Sometimes chipped and bruised,

Sometimes wanting, asking why.

Feel the touch of her in your hand.

Gently wrap your fingers around

The weight of her.

It’s how to seek forgiveness.

Hold tight.

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A white dress morning

She reminds you

With dark eyes that glow in sunlight

With soft fingers brushing purple flower buds

Then your cheek;

Reminds you

That time needs care

To peel back the skins of error;

Just start

To find that raw moment

When it was just a look

That opened it all;

When she in the  white dress turned,

Showed the  air vast and wild,

Said, this is  me

Said follow;

And you had to be

Willing to leap.

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NO!

It was the only word that mattered.

NO!

So she painted it in blue.

NO!

These things can not stand.

She painted it in green.

And the paint dripped down the wall.

You can’t have me.

You can’t have them.

Can’t hide them, steal them, beat them.

NO!!!!

She painted it in red.

One foot tall.

NO.

Then bending, three feet tall.

There are more than just me.

You can’t stop us.

No.

The word on the wall everywhere.

Resist

Fight back.

Tell them NO.

The last word

A running start, ten feet long, drippy, uneven, as ragged as the moment,

A scream from us all.

NNNNOOOOOOOO!!!!

What’s it mean? Someone asked.

“It’s how we win.”

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White dress rising

She draws you from  the place

Where you left yourself

In darkness.

Hair in the wind

Fingers brushing grass tops;

Eyes wide and round

A voice like silk,

Says follow.

The glow finds her,

like sunlight finds the air.

Frames her.

Draws you.

Rise.

It is the only choice.

It is the weight of light that saves you.

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When the white dress is free

Ankles crossed, arms wrapping knees, waiting

As  sunlight strips mist

From lips and shoulders

Drenched by passing rain;

Brown bodied

Changed from white dress

Open

Smiling

Giving, taking.

Joyous leaping.

Loving.

Free.

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Revolution

We never thought we’d have to,

March, that is,

Not for this.

Not for everything.

Didn’t they fight this war centuries ago?

But we have always marched,

A few at first, then more

And more and more

For every version of freedom we can define.

Marched, pressed bodies against the will of oppressors

Till they weaken and run.

Because they will weaken

And run and hide and lie;

and when defeated stand bewildered

and angry and unlearned.

as we grabbed back with they have taken.

Marched, a million voices filling

The air with a ragged cry:  No, No, No.

The  echo of slaves, heroes, lovers and friends;

Rough hands, slim fingers, cane limpers,

Legless, slightless, born and unborn

War torn and innocent

Breathing the air of imperfect freedom,

Cracking the leaning wall with

The righteous defiance of love.

Marched because the past taught us how;

Marched to teach the future;

Marched to a common place,

And raised voices like thunder,

Voices like prayer

Voices like song.

Marched, again eyes wide

Marched again aroused,

Marched again awake.

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White dress without words

What can you bring her that she hasn’t offered?

What can you say that she hasn’t said?

But says with her fingers light on your neck

Says with eyes dark and moody, offering surprise

Says with silence that lingered too long

Leaving room for an answer

Without words

As the white dress glows transparent

In sunlight like an open soul.

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Two upcoming book events

I’ll be taking part in these two upcoming book events with copies of the award-winning Frank Nagler Mysteries.

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White dress, flowers

Daffodils poking yellow heads,

bluebells litter

Roses mere buds.

Fragile crocuses pale purple

Stain the white dress

Waist gathered

Lavender brushed;

chilled skin

drips with honeysuckle

the sweetest water.

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