Sometimes all she has are eyes
Panes of a violent silence

soot catcher(s)

soul-gut voices
peering out from
another time

All she has are eyes sometimes
Phantom dissolves of vogue dissensions

textured fingers
cold and hard

listening ears
of sounds’

Are eyes sometimes all she has;
A forever home in a public domain?

look out dreams!
scared I cry!

lavenders you scream—
washing weakness,
mourning walks free

She has our eyes; sometimes always
Echoes’ purification of nameless translucence

enormity’s imitator
green canyon friendships
blue ice waters

Here,   (hands over eyes)

Here,   (hands over cheeks)

Here,    (hands sweep)

Her eyes,

Heaven’s atonement
Sparkles of a thousand


Whisper-dust kisses
Lost in the moment undone

The original bones of this poem, I drew into being a long time ago.  A version I shared on Medium.  She evolves.  Today, I re-envisioned her as she has grown.

Why?  Life in process.  September I will install a meditation walk, and I want her ready.  She wants to be a part of it.

Sometimes all she has are eyes,
and sometimes, they are all she needs.

Relying on herself, still in a mist; veiled separations from life; people.

This week has been difficult.  And in the difficult I give thanks; why? because I grew; was stretched; released; felt.

In real time, something I am not accustomed to sharing, and in this season of my life, here I am.

What happened.  Researching floor refinishing products, I clicked on what was suppose to be the website of a certain company; instead something horrific invaded my computer and “Warning Microsoft Warning” blared out.

I screamed.  I panicked.  No! NO! shrilling from my voice.

My browser would not shut off.  Finally I was able to shut the computer down.

Crying, screaming, confused, and scared, I called for help.  I called the home phone of one; emailed another, and sent text to still more.  My dear friend who lives upstairs came home.  I got into my wheelchair, but got it stuck.

I gave up, I melted down.  In the end, four friends and my husband descended upon my house.

Fixed the computer and made sure all was well.  Simply sat with me, allowed me to be.

In the end, we sat on the porch talking about the lives of trees and plants; enjoying nature’s wisdom and friendship.

I called for help.
I screamed NO!
I felt support without embarrassment or fear.

Why do I share this? Because it is life.  Life post trauma.  Sometimes when I least expect it everything and more hits hard.  Life, life(s) hard.

And it is okay.

Layers of honesty learning.  The guard takes lunch.  And it is okay.  The only thing it means is I am human, and community is beautiful.  Amen

paint much love, always,
Connie Karleta Sales
a.k.a. This Crooked Little Flower

Out of Obscurity X Connie Karleta Sales crop
Out of Obscurity, 10″ x 8″, ink, graphite, light, charcoal, pigment, paper, ©CKS 2015
Posted by:Connie Karleta Sales

artist, poet, educator, public speaker, founder of This Crooked Little Flower, and thriver!

4 replies on “Day One: Sometimes all she has are eyes

    1. Thank you Tre. You are welcome. Working on pieces and parts, in the end to journey in together if that make sense. happy Sunday!

Comments are closed.