Because of You

In Memory of my Dad and his passing . . . December 1, 1994

Because of You

Time has passed, my Father,

since that day you left this earth,

but echoes of your life and memories

go on and on.  Your smile and your laughter

comes floating by in the wind sometimes, I could swear.

You were a tender man of many colors, hopes and dreams,

you were full of tomorrows, something better was

always on its way.  You taught me to look for rainbows

and silver linings and to keep expecting the sun at any moment

to poke its head through the clouds.

You filled your container as full as you could

with life, love, and laughter and gave it

to all your children . . . to make it our inheritance.

You lived your life in a hurry, always on the move,

gathering episodes, telling your funny tales, dreaming your dreams.

So I guess it was to be, that you had to leave before the chapter closed.

And yet, dear man, you always found the time to dry our tears,

comfort our fears, and chase the boogie man away

so that we too . . . could believe in tomorrow and smile.

You shared things, so simple, so good  . . . the real things,

the keepers, the ones that mattered.  Your love made us strong,

knowing we were wanted and cherished. You stayed through it all,

the good times and the bad, and because of you . . . we learned

the art of loving children . . . of our own.

Joanne Cucinello

.

She Can Rest Now

I'd waited a hundred years it seemed

to find the grace of forgiveness.

Give it up . . .  Let it go! . . .

something whispered in my dreams at night.

Nothing is worth the price of your soul!

But I, knowing that there would be

nothing left to hold onto without that pain,

decided to fasten it, like a scapula, to my skin

taking it with me at every chance

so that I could feel that feeling pinned

to me and never forget.

One day, without warning,

like the sun parting the clouds

In my heart I saw her, my Mother,

a child lost and forgotten

a waif with sorrow so deep I could not bear

and it all passed before me, her life

her loneliness inconsolable and hopeless

her mind disheveled and searching

for someone, anyone

to wrap her and rock her to sleep

and never have to say goodbye.

I let it go that day, and looked beyond my own pain

to this woman gone, my mother, whose life

I would not trade, nor could I change, waiting for

forgiveness that she knew would set me free.

Joanne Cucinello    2014

I Have Not Dreamed of You

I have not dreamed of you, my Mother

long gone many years now

I am so much older than you were

when you finally left this world behind ~

almost twice your age

so it is hard for me to think of you

as my Mother, unless I return to those days

when you and I were split

like dry wood that the axe took down

I keep trying to remember love ~ yours ~ mine

and how it was . . . once

but it's hard recalling, even though I know it

must have been . . . once.

Darkness swallows our trail

it floats along linoleum floors

and a porcelain sink that stood in the corner

of that small kitchen where you painted your hair

so bright, so red and necessary

for that look that turned men's heads.

I was very young, no matter

still you taught me how to

paint the hairs you missed

in back of your head ~

the back of your head

where you always kept me

close at hand for secrets

hard to hold for one so young

but you needed me

and I kept your secrets

yes I did ~ for years.

I wish that I could dream of you

just once ~

and the days when your brown eyes

smiled at me and your soft hands

touched my face, and remember how

love must have been ~ once.

Joanne Cucinello

Still We Love

All the world is spinning, spinning

I can hardly breathe . . .

Like leaves in a tempest storm

flying past my face

every new creation, new idea

comes and goes and winds up

in the mortuary of humanity

a sticker on the wall of instant fame.

But there you are, my Love

reaching for my hand on the carousel

smiling with those eyes

that know me and can find me

anywhere

If I tried to enter the abyss

and forget I had a name

you would call it, call me

come to you . . . no questions asked

no reprimands

In this fading world that's grown

so unfamiliar and fragile

it amazes me that you and I

have kept the promise

and still can love . . . in spite of all.

Joanne Cucinello  2014

The Christ Tree Twists

 

I love how the dogwood

bends~

following its own lead

turning to the whispers

of the laurel, oak and ivy

as they mingle in the woods.

Outside my window

a great white lady

readies herself to bloom

sap rising 

ripening her tight buds ~

the warm spring sun

seducing her to burst forth

in lacy splendor.

Christ's blossoms,

cross shaped petals

tinged as though with sacred blood

they say ~

and in each center

there his crown.

I do not think

sweet Jesus hung

upon a dogwood

yet we yearn for mystic symbols

connections ~

wherever they might be

organic matter

to fertilize our faith.

Even in a tree ~ poor tree ~

just wanting to twist and turn

and share its beauty

with the sun

while all it asks of us

is the deep breath ~

the aah!

and silent yes

acknowledging its gift

so simple ~ so magnificent.                              

 Joanne Cucinello     ©2008