resurrection

it’s never too late
to rock your own cradle
to pace the floor singing
with you in your arms
to rub and pat the lonely back
that lingers at the back of you
and witness as you rack
with deep and un-cried tears
your displaced mother napping
has awakened from her couch
and stretching she has risen
to sing awake the lonely house
to serve for you the dinner
at the table long awaited
to tuck in your own napkin
and calm your raging fear
to run a mother's fingers
through your long and graying hair
and listen to the nightmares
for so long gone untold
to see you and to see you
to love you and to hold you
to clean your house with laughter
and welcome your heart home


poem and photo by lucy meskill

love...

like rust,
you liberate my oxygen
and fill my lungs with breath
you soften my metallic skin
and color me of sunset
no longer gleaming, I am deep
a place where things fall in
as hilled and valleyed I become
of soil and seeds and wind…
lucy meskill

speak...

we are all vocal chords
in a mighty throat
stirred by the rush of air,
like petals that speak
undulating in floral tones,
we are whistles for the wind...
lucy meskill

unexpected grace...

deepest sorrow, I sow you,
onto a rising wind
where you float heavily
dirigible slow, a lead balloon
suspended by belief alone
to be split and hammered open
upon anvil winds, shattering,
into a million blessed shards
which refracting in sunlight
wander transformed
light, luminous and full
of unexpected grace...
lucy meskill

echo...

the echo of your light
precedes you, broadcast
like the scented peony
steeped in amber sunset
your spirit fills the air...
lucy meskill