Stepping stones

Writings of a woman

[charmmstone]

The Lion’s Den

I am in a lion’s den The lion starves and lurks He prowls around Drool dripping from his mouth He longs to destroy me My end would be his joy His eyes are dark and hungry His razor teeth want to feel  The warmth of my blood, my death

There is a hot blinding Babylon outside Teeming with people  Eyes green with ambition Scrolling images  Currency of tiny waists, Glowing skin,  Hot husband, perfect marriage. Say this to your kid  Look at all I’ve accomplished After all:  “I am and there is none besides me.” 

I am trying to find the heart of Daniel,  The man who lived for over 80 years  A minority, an exile,  In a country not his own Chosen to serve a foreign king, He never flinched when  Questioned who his God is Every time his answer: He is The Most High.  “He is, and there is none besides him.”

He stared into faces of violent kings. How do I say to the thing that wants  To cut me down to a stump: God is and there is none besides him I remember that I know of a Lion Who is merciful,  Whose eyes are brown and kind Who is both powerful and meek Whose great longing is to protect me To hide me in the hair of his mane He shuts the mouth of the one who prowls and drools He is the one who can deliver me from the den Unharmed, unscathed.

So I will say to the violent kings  The corrupt rulers of my Babylon To the dark lion thirsty for my end:  My God is, and there is none besides him.

[charmmstone]

Advent Poem 2021

There’s a doctrine carved into stone within me.  It says: You aren’t acceptable.  In front of the Bible every morning,  I beg the Lord for niceness.  For a tongue that drips with honey. Instead, there’s a bitterness in my mouth. And I am weary of the world.  With crowds and traffic,  generational scrolls that never change.  Dusty with stagnation.

And myself -she never changes.  My anger is hurricane wind.  Snapping oaks like twigs.  I am clutching that stone tablet of rules.  Cold, hard, brittle.  Tugging at me are dark pious voices Who accuse me day and night. Yearning to place me in a corner, Silence me in the name of niceness.  I can’t go back there.  To that barren land of nothingness.

Somewhere around here is the match.  I’ve exhausted all the dutiful practices, anyway. A truth ignites from a small flame. You do not have to be polite and smile.  Love and light and Immanuel are here.  They aren’t just things collecting dust for the righteous.  While you burn and smolder, They sit with you. They look into your eyes and hold your face.  They take your flame and burn too. 

My skin, my bones, my curves, and ever-furrowed brow. The washing of the counters, the laundry, the diaper trash. The Everlasting Light sees.  With a rugged, sweaty face as well.  His voice a sword Glinting and glittering with truth. You are salt. You are light.  You are the flavorer, the soother, the upholder.  I entrusted these things to you. Blessed are you. 

My flames of anger,  They reach the heights now.  He calls them good,  Calls out the tenderness, The wails of grief, The yearning for peace that is behind it all.  He stretches out his wing:  You are never too much.  You are loved like the number of grains of sand,  the stars in the sky.

[charmmstone]

The Liturgy of Laundry

I fold clothes

I give thanks

For the bodies

They will adorn

Each item I fold

I lay gently on a pile

House quiet except 

The rhythm 

Of white noise

A cycle of wash

A slew of pink 

And flowers

And baby smell 

Of Dreft

I thank God 

With each garment

For the little girl

Who runs about 

In these blessed 

Clothes I fold

I provide clothes

For my family 

I am the vine

That curls around

The edges of walls

And delivers

Warm clean clothes

For the ones

Who take up 

Residence 

In my soul.

[charmmstone]

Glass Fires

My body was hollowed out  Viciously carved into Shoveled out every piece of me

But rock becomes sand, then glass I went through the fires Became movable, soft Dependent on the artisan

I didn’t realize that I became a vessel Into which only joy was poured  Right up to the brim Now, wine rushes to the glass like laughter Sounds like the babbling of my baby.

[charmmstone]

Beach Poem

No one is exempt from the waves that come lapping at your toes. 

The water, it’s own sacred invitation both grand and granular.

God made the world for our feet to walk on. 

What sweet marriage for feet to meet the earth this way. 

Everyone is here: the silly gulls that squawk, the herons and their gliding arcs. 

Come to the world, sip from it’s unbiased cup, it is here for the savoring. 

I am not the author of the ocean with it’s unattainable mass. 

I am not the author of anyone else’s story or grief. 

I dare you though, to manage the unruly currents. 

It is either a comfort or a terror to fail.

It is a prayer itself to greet the expanse that nips persistently at your feet. 

What wonderful thing to know I am not king of the tides. 

The ragged man on the tug boat with the sole voice of God,

Calls out from the sea and speaks to the squalls within me: Be Still. 

[charmmstone]

Promised Land

We used to drive around town looking for a house. We used to bow our heads and pray,  In silence.  Words were too much.  To utter our desires all the way up to God. 

Our heart’s desire was another man’s Tuesday; We folded our hands, white knuckles,  A baby. Just one.  A house. Nothing fancy.  Underneath, we silently screamed.

How long, how long, oh lord?  Mother, Father, will we ever? Our empty arms. Our empty hearts.    Our empty hands. A trinity of sorrow.

I shuddered listening to friends Intercede with unshaking voices- “We ask for children” I sat in silence horrified by such boldness, Clutching my decency and my pearls. 

I remember Joshua.  Deep in dirty trenches among war torn faces. Hail smashing down to the earth From God’s heavenly hand.  imploring God to stop the very sun. 

I don’t ever want to think  That it is any small thing That my baby with strawberry hair Is crawling up the walls Of our home on the street by the park.

She has crevices in her hands Where all the crevices are supposed to be. She takes her little hand Of her own volition and  pats Maggie’s brown furry head.

This is no small thing. 

God stopped the sun and left it high in the sky Until Joshua was satisfied.  This baby He has ushered into our world, As if she’s been on her way all along. In her travels, I never had ears to hear.

This is no small thing.

The waters of The Jordan recede, leaving a damp road of packed sand,  A covenant path lined with kindness. There is no other way to travel  Than to follow God’s sureness in every step.

This is no small thing. 

God poured oil on the ashes of my head. There was a balm heaped on me,  Women, laying on hands, Chanting over me rain drops, Life, life, life. 

This is no small thing. 

This word, a thread weaved through,  Tracing back to earliest cries of barrenness, A needle carrying pink thread patiently through  Holes of a tapestry of sadness and hope. Up and down, tiny pinpoints, leading to her entrance.

This is no small thing. 

At the table one day, “Ava” was uttered Like a passing thought Her name dropped onto my plate Just as she did, traveling on a covenant rainbow To arrive so beautifully here. 

This is no small thing. She stares for a spell,  letting time trickle over her sweetly,  This, a sweet echo of her father,  Whose voice was meant to sing  Blue Skies over her. A nightly routine. 

This is no small thing. 

She lifts her hand to the sky, Da! She proclaims this word as if it’s English. Her crystal blue eyes gazing at clouds. She wants the whole world and I’ll give it to her, if I have anything to do with it. 

This is no small thing. 

She used to root in the silliest way  A baby bird, she blindly opened her mouth Eyes fierce, tight fists. My body I offered to her willingly, As sure as I breathe.

This is no small thing. 

I used to open the door to my dark classroom  Silently saying a one word prayer to God. “Help” if there was a word, that would be it.  Now I hear him: Daughter, I would give you the world, If I have anything to do with it.

This is no small thing.

Not on a perfectly ordinary Tuesday.  Not when the sky is gray and full of hours.  Not on the most mundane of days.  I am mesmerized.  Orange hair. Can you even imagine?

[charmmstone]

The Cave

I am standing at the end of a dark cold cave.  I am standing with my hand on my hip. I am catching my breath and peering back into it.  The sun’s kind light is finally resting on my face. 

I remember choosing to go through it.  Reluctantly. Knowing it was the only way.  I heaved the weight on my back.  In the cave, I searched through its painful contents. 

One by one, I examined the things I thought I knew.  I looked at them more closely.  I saw their cracks and their cancers I’d been ignoring them for decades now. 

What I thought was a stick in the ground Turned out to be rooted deep within muck and mire I had to pull until my shoulders gave way. I worked until I got down to the bones. 

I thought it would bury me.  Claw me into the earth and silence me. These things pounded me deeper  Into the dark rock and mud. 

I looked squarely at the insides, They made me shudder, and scream,  And clench my fists, and shed tears of grief.  They drew out each ounce of my will. 

They made me sit with very God With the mud in my eyes scowling at him  for what seemed to be decades I let time pass in utter disdain with him. 

He was silent but gentle, as always. I brushed off the dirt from my knees.  I named each sorrow from so deep in the ground.  I had to pause to recall so far back. 

I gave them each a kiss.  Buried them back in the ground.  I shuffled through the contents once more.  Pain and joy I restored to their places. 

[charmmstone]

First Advent Realization

I grip this hard thing. This bitterness. Skin taut, I clench it. Remembering with disdain, All the times I was made a fool, It really hurt, To not have the upper hand, To not. To trust so childishly.

Jesus comes to gently Pry my fingers free. Quietly he works. He does not begrudge the redundancy Of my mistakes. Something about sap and a tree. Why does he never yell.

Why I turn to bitterness Year after year like a drug I will never know. Especially now that I’m old enough. Shouldn’t I be old enough? And once the gentle carpenter is done with his peeling, The softness comes.

Surely no one needed the brittle instruction Of my anger anyway. I toss it out onto the garbage pile Where it belongs.

It’s a short trip to the dumpster. So I decide to keep him close.  To keep my angry hands open.  To keep them soft.  To meander back to that childish trust, Dust it off,  and lace my fingers through his. 

[charmmstone]

Poem About Us

When The vultures come rapping  There is a thing that ties us together  Stronger than a thread, And at times just as frail. 

Obstacles fifteen stories high, We stand in their shadows. Here they come again,  At the doors we so tidy secured.

Nothing is ever sealed perfectly. Cracks and holes bare Themselves to creatures Thirsty for an entrance. 

We heave and shovel  The rot out of our soil beds, Once again.

Our family crest  Glimmers through the dirt The sun catches one spot.  It’s the place from years ago That echoes through currents of time.

The for sure thing, When you walked to your truck With your coffee, I laid eyes on fresh you. A stake in the ground. I dug it in with my boot.

Foundations of concrete  Unmoving under our feet.  The thing that is constant; It holds.  Against the thieves, the vultures,  The shadows ten stories long. The thing we built our life on  Maybe isn’t made of this world.

[charmmstone]

Ava’s Sound

I Used to think the most beautiful sound Was something of the likes of Brahms Requiem Echoes of hundreds of voices in harmony Reverberating through the rafters Something angelic, other-worldly.

But ever since the day  The doctors made an incision And pulled her out of me Shouting admirations, Her little cries, Relieving thousands of minutes I feared something wrong.

Inevitably, I would sigh, it will be me Rendered invisible by my lot.

I have changed my mind.  My life has become exquisitely simpler.  And ever since then, I have learned The sound I love the most is air Moving in and out of her little mouth, Like a mystical wind, Lazily through wind chimes.

She knows nothing of the jagged jaws Of this world.  For now, I’ll stand in  To break the chill. 

When her head settles against my shoulder In exhaustion Or when she’s on the determined hunt For a new discovery,  Her breathing will be the tempo That keeps the time of our days.

I used to cry in the shower. Dozens of time after times I pounded my feeble hands Against the white tile.

Those beatings I pour out like wine.  I replace them with wonder. 

[charmmstone]

The two men in suits with nothing to say

It will never all boil down to two men in suits With nothing much to say. They are simply products of their paths, red carpet laid down. Every snag and unsmooth thing shoveled away. They are mouthpieces that echo the state of things, Out of their mouths come wailings of a child That never learned about difficulty. Behind them stand elders, authorities who shoved microphones in front of their mouths, Who set for them a beautiful stage, Who laid the foundations for their towers, Gave them the absolute floor. 

I wonder if they ever found themselves On the floor of an old apartment  With a popcorn ceiling And the only audience member of their life, An old chain smoker named Mary next door. Trying to figure out their career,  filling out FAFSA forms and doing homework For intro courses, printer broken. No. 

Some many people paved a smooth path Void of old carpeted floors and beginning steps, However unsure and lonely.  The sole sweat of your own effort.  Mary, with her long cigarettes,  giving a stare and a short nod of approval.  The only building blocks. Ground zero. 

Into their hands we gave power.  We gnash our teeth and scurry to the polls,  Desperately trying to screw boards willy nilly  onto a ship hemorrhaging water.  The holes were punched a long time ago,  A thousand fold long the way.  We have to go back and ask the pavers.

About the true strong voices we never heard.

[charmmstone]

Eve https://www.instagram.com/p/CEnGbmjDVMZ/?igshid=pge10lm89pju

[charmmstone]

Eve

In the garden, I was born.

A dwelling place, a blessed harmony. I came from bone, from earth, from body From the breath of God. Native to the ground, to the trees. A betrothal beneath the stars, We were proclaimed Sovereign over grass and root. Conversing with the universe, God within me, beside me, In my breath, my lungs, my spirit, Galaxy reverberating in my frame, Made of stardust and mystery.

The slithering one came Crawling on his belly Sputtering his clever untruths. A woman is never exempt From the pestering questions of a narcissist. Manipulators know who to move on the chess board, Know to influence the influencer - Woman. Without her, the world is his jester, And himself, King.

I bit on the tastiest part of the lie. The part where I needed something Outside of myself, to add value. My skin tingled with the possibility That I could be better, A more sparkly version of me. The reflection of my face Rippled away and vanished As if a rock was thrown right in the center Of the pool reflecting me - A cosmic disappearing act.

He knew how to make garbage sound appealing. But then again, it’s not that hard. I sunk my teeth wholeheartedly Into the lie that I could make myself better. But the fruit was rotten. Within seconds it failed me. God within me vanished. I separated myself from her. Couldn’t hear her voice any longer.

The snake skulked away He always knows the best time to leave; Right as I was distracted by the taste, His smile anticipating my disappointment. I barely noticed his discreet exit, Much less his slimy introduction.

I became slippery and clever too. He made me believe this beautiful world Could be reduced to an object, something to quickly consume, to control for my own ascent. I had forgotten my husband. From whose bones I came. About the strong current of God’s breath.

Then God came looking for me. She knew I had forgotten myself, About who I was, the world I was in. It doesn’t have to be something To be simply eaten. I was dust, but I also had Authority over plants and creatures. I was a woman, who didn’t need a snake To peddle me his cheap riches.

The only words that could have ever put me back together In a moment, Was God’s simple question pointed at me, As gentle and as natural as a stone, Whose edges had been smoothed by years of a river. Where are you?

[charmmstone]

Clean

When I met you, It was not a throwing of Dice down a table. What occurred, Was as certain as Names in the family Bible.

On the farm, Of green fields and hills, Two counties over from town, Windows cracked open, An orchestra of crickets, You made me into royalty.

Underwear on the floorboards, Candlelight flickering A measurement of hours Burnt away like wax, Slow and almost not at all.

Blowing the dust off my soul, Drenching it in the Balm of your affection, Coming home to myself, Bathing in your presence.

A baptism. A rebirth. A shift of my being, Restored me to the home Of the woman I was always Supposed to be.

It was never a roll of the dice. No, It was a duet Of our truths. Soaked in summer night air.

[charmmstone]

Compromise

If you’d like the world to be your stage,  (Yourself a role to be played), A pretty mask to wear, forever blithe,  Then darling, kiss yourself goodbye.

Good luck and goodnight, You’ll pretend with all your might, and the vultures will have a field day, with the parts you abandoned to decay. 

[charmmstone]

The Path You Made

I want to reach through time and space. Back to the ten years ago me. Tell her this: First; everything is a mirage. Built carefully for all the key players to see. Most people won’t see you, truly. They’re on the hunt for the top of the latter Hungry for approval and all things seen. And that’s ok. You will make your own path. Meanwhile, they will build themselves a tower Made of photoshopped dreams and lateral gains.

You will look around and feel behind. You’ll feel lonely and poor. But darling, you will grab your machete and begin slicing through the overgrowth. You’ll cut down the weeds and thorns. Your fingers will blister, And your arms will bleed from the scratches. But everything you do will be true. You’ll cut all the falsehoods down, Chasing only after the things that hold. You’ll tap into strength that you didn’t even know, Generations back into the women of your blood.

Ten years of that sacred work will pass. You felt it all. Sat in the shadows and felt it. Dwelled with the demons and the sorrows. Truth was always your heart’s desire.   You never made deals with devil, Trading in your truth for gold.

Ten years of journeying. A beautiful tapestry of effort. Formed by a rainbow of characters Threads of far off cities That jolted you out of yourself Helped you to know it’s a big world, But not for some.

Now, there is quiet. It isn’t so steep anymore. You can drink from the waters of peace. The weeds and brambles are gone now,  The mirages vanished (As they seem to do with time). And you arrived at the purest place, The solitary waters of you.  

[charmmstone]

She

She was always with me. Guided by her when I was young; Picking up shells on the beach, in glorious wonder. Captivated by the purple rainbows inside. The clear diamond water layered rhythmically over the soft tan canvas of sand Sun catching in all its ripples.

I stared and wondered At the horizon’s gem Content to watch the water of the world. Unfamiliar with the feverish competitions of life.

I didn’t believe her sometimes. I was taught to silence her under the steeple.

Don’t leave me again I missed you all that time, She said.

Come home to the ocean of glory; your very body To the waves of your emotions To the truest currents of your soul Listen to the roar of the wild you. She shows up in the white friction of waves and ground. Forever crashing and retreating. Oh! The rhythmic tantrums of a child.

She was always north. Gently approaching me on the sands; That blessed unmarked path Carved only by the tides Whose storms I cursed,  Where I bitterly wept and Hurled questions from the jagged rocks.

I don’t know when I stopped listening to her; The utterances, the very matter of myself. But once the winds and tide slowed into the blush of morning,  I could hear her better. 

She was the abiding voice all along. My gentle friend whose skirt brushes lightly on mine As we walk along the submissive sand Packed down by an unforgiving ocean. She is a pure and true friend This, the only voice of mine. And I’ll loop my arm through hers The next time the rain comes.