Saturday, June 17, 2017

I Dreamed a Dream

brooklyn brownstones photo: Brooklyn Brownstones IMG_0609.jpg

I dreamed a dream that took me home to Brooklyn and the home I loved on Linden Street.  You know how dreams are.   Back and forth I traveled in time, colors dark and light, swirling.  A brown wood door stood closed before me and I knocked, listening for feet. They came to the other side shuffling.

A woman, my aunt, old and white haired now, turned the knob and opened it, and I saw a golden light stream into the room and fill it.  I told her I was to meet my Mother here.  She said she'd come at four this afternoon.  All of them, my mother's sisters, were sitting on kitchen chairs shaking their heads and wiping their eyes, saying to each other . . . "She's not coming, poor thing, she never should have said that."

My heart began to sink, another lie, just keep pretending. Then from the corner of my eye, I saw another room, dimly lit and a bed with a worn suitcase on it, opened and strewn with clothes.  There she stood, my Mother, still in her coat and frailer than I remembered.  My Mother, tear stained and seemingly afraid to come to me.  Oh, I was so happy and relieved!

"Mommy!" I cried, and ran to her like a little girl again, wrapping my arms around her saying how much I loved her and missed her for so long.  She held me too and I could feel her hair against my cheek.  The whole room began to fill with that golden light.
She kissed my face all over, just the way she always did when I was small, and she smiled that smile I've waited to see again . . . for all my life.  My gift, my answered prayer . . . She was waiting for me there, and all I had to do was knock.

Joanne Cucinello  2014


Sunday, April 2, 2017

No Regrets

white pillow photo: white 2xWhite.jpg

The years
are filled with stories

stories woven
with a gilded thread
to make a heart.

Silver hairs are falling
soft upon this loom
like feathers ~

pillows touching
slept on through the years
finding comfort  ~

gazing some nights
across the sheets
to that place
where heaven rests

Oh . . . these have been
the best days
the best choice
ever, ever made!


Joanne

Drop the Oars

 photo HPIM9597.jpg

The edge of morning is dark before sunrise
magical and fertile with imagination.
Expectancy and renewal await the dawn
so different from dusk, when the long night begins.

We must let go of the day 
to restore our bodies and walk 
through the door of sleep, but
it can be difficult to surrender 
to the dark subconscious mind. 
It asks us to abandon any thought 
of tomorrow's fate. This is not always easy.  
Ask any insomniac.

To sleep in that cocoon of dreamtime
requires trust ~ trust that we will rest protected.
Anything can happen while we sleep.
The world we know could end!  
We might wake up to hear that war has started
or someone close has died. We fear it could be us.

But then comes the morning!  We're alive!!
A new child is born somewhere at daybreak
and our ears are set to hear some joyful news!
That long awaited phone call comes 
a friend is at our doorstep,
a note arrives to say "I'm sorry".  
The blessed light brings hope.

The God who loves us 
guides the boat of our souls in the dark
while we sleep and drop the oars.
A new day breaks filled with possibilities 

and we're reborn to live another day.

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