Christine Salkin Davis (Focail do a Chara)

Here is the who I am; this is where you
are, and this is the way it is between
us. You're stuck in the now, an unforeseen
future awaits. Dreams escape, overdue,
and left behind is a life you outgrew
long ago. You feel your world's a machine,
tracking steadily toward places unseen.
Only way forward is probably through

the jungle, jumble, thicket of longing,
desires for what you don't know. Finger-
painted future; impressionist delight.
How long until that sense of belonging?
Lost in timelessness forever; linger;
you now have fewer years to get it right.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

Breathe in the sun's light shining, singing birds,
illuminating high and bright, unfold.
Breathe out the cobwebs of your mind, the words
that hurt, these words cry out to be untold.

Breathe in exploded cherry blossoms, blurs
the sky with puffs of white, a beauty bold.
Breathe out the chill of darkest night, the stirs
of restless sleep and dreams disturb the cold.

Breathe in the joy of star-specked sky, a moon's
full glow to brighten corners of the night.
Breathe out frustration, fear, that sense of doom.
Send out forgiveness, love, to make it right

Breathe in the parted storm, the lightened load.
Breathe out the lost, the unfamiliar road.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

Dear one to whom I pray, effervescent
tree of life. Drifting to sleep, I float in
turquoise sea, a hanging moon, blue sky falls.
Purple, orange, sky afire sunset,
three-quarter moon so bright behind the trees.
Long month of rain and bird song morn, your voice
an echo to my past, shadows falling.
Bursting lungs search for the surface, failing.
She spoke her fears, silence breaking, courage
speaking, wisdom searching, sacrificing
much. As hunting witches settles boundaries,
violations punished; killing persists.
Lovebursts. From apathy to empathy,
your buds unfold, becoming who you are.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

Maybe that free-fall sensation is you
floating in the ocean, love, divine, hold.
Maybe in the darkness is the way through,
releasing your fears to lighten the load.

Cleansing power of the dark of the moon,
you're under its spell, dark night sky, and cold.
Bright white stars, pinpricks in velvety view,
glimpses, shining radiantly and bold.

Maybe when you're lost, you can find yourself.
Maybe you can love the chaos when your 
barking dog settles down and all is well.
Maybe you can break the surface, breathe air.

Welcome your ashes, wounded deity,
be where you are, then be where you will be.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

The rain stops and it's time to raise your eyes
above the bad news headlines, clouds weeping,
waiting, waiting, waiting, for bluing skies,
seeds to sprout. The birds and I are singing

in the clearing air. You can clear your mind,
too, disengage from the stories keeping
you tied to the administration's lies,
angry responses, and despair creeping

in your heart. Love, blossoms, germinating
under darkness, now reaching to the light,
rock foundations, knowledge terminating.
Trust the voice within; new wisdoms take flight,

and you follow them as far as your fears.
Rest yourself in sun's shadows; dry your tears.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

If you want to give up something for Lent,
try giving up your front-of-line status,
privilege. Perhaps you can put a dent
in marginalization, hiatus

of poverty. Compassion is the rent
we pay for living in this world, gratis
breaths and all. Just to give one damn, decent
care for others sharing this space. That is

not much to ask. Robot doctors giving
bad news. Really? Maybe in the darkness
is the way through; the spell of the cleansing
power of the dark of the moon. Starkness

and cold. Maybe when you're lost you can find
yourself; free-fall sensation in your mind.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

The veil of illusions has lifted, and
we're all just one disappointment away
from a breakdown. Possibilities, plans
gone awry. My frustrating plot displays

misplaced trust in today's fair world. To stand
is to hope, but things aren't going the way
of goodness and roses. It's this dreamland
that lets you down. Humanity betrays

us in her ignorance and arrogance.
The distance between two lost souls is vast;
our cocoon of sameness a hinderance
to understanding. Resentments amassed;

yet, this bird sings in the midst of the rain.
I want her eyes to see instead of mine.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019

As bad news and overwhelming sadness overtake you, the suffocating heaviness of non-stop rain for weeks, you wonder, when will earth finally awaken, her blossoms blooming, bursting out in nature’s crush on herself? You look for a glimmer of light in the headlines but instead, the haters have won another round, doors slammed shut against themselves. 
As you attempt to dig yourself out of the avalanche of disillusion, you feel adrift. This has been a week of opportunities, lost, for love to show her face. Alas,
love does not appear to be winning these
days. Separation, isolation, you
can dress it up in fancy clothes, but, please,
rejection is still rejection. The news,

the earth-quaking, foundation-shaking sleaze
and disappointments, rock my world. Look to
the sky, weeping tears. Like a refugee
to people who seem to care about you

from people who clearly don’t, you’re feeling
the hurt. Missed connections, misconceptions,
missed opportunities to love. Kneeling,
and will this month ever …