Turn your struggles to faith and pray
Be thankful for the joy in each day
Let love guide the words you say
Dedicate your life to God’s way
Lynn Mari, ©2004
*Written for the Dedication Celebration of my daughter. A special thanks to the Church Family for your support, and replacing her certificate.
Thank-you!*
Lately my steps have slowed
under an unbearable weight
My stomach is full
with all the tears I hold inside
I yearn for something softer–
a happiness so elusive
the child we never had.
A ghost of what could have been,
she fills my arms with warmth
At my breast she suckles
the love I had for you
She smells as sweet as milk
and as rancid as pain
the child we never had.
A bruised little angel
watched you call me names
watched you push me down
My cries went unheard
in the reflection of your rage
She was the only one who answered
the child we never had.
Under her dark lashes
is a world of dreams.
I turn away
so I will not be pulled back
into memories of you
There is an innocence in her eyes
the child we never had.
The big house on the hill
will always remain incomplete
No amount of construction
can fill those rooms
with what our family was
She is abandoned
the child we never had.
If you hear a soft cry
in the middle of the night,
If you feel the graze of a
small hand against your cheek
she is there–
a ghost of what could have been
the child we never had.
Grace of Wynn, ©2006
Love is impartial, like the nurturing earth, showing tenderness to both the hardened rock and the diamond…
Love is unselfish, as brilliant as a galaxy of stars, shining unto itself but never once seeing its own radiance…
Love is honest, both the language of ancient truth and infant curiosity, speaking in simple yet profound discovery…
Love is God, whose very act of loving is the force from which all of life circles,
orbiting the reflection of the Beloved and the Beloved.
Lynn Mari, ©2006
Curled on one side,
a matted ball of fur
small legs twisted
eyes pinched shut
just another city rat
dead by a dumpster
would have been forgotten
and discarded
if not loved
by two homeless children
who saw his small body,
his twisted limbs,
his matted fur,
and named him “Hairball”.
Sissie saw him first,
the clump of fur
with pink claws curled at his chest
who did not respond to her gentle voice
calling his new name– “Hairball”.
Sissie peered into “Hairball’s”
pinched shut eyes
and tenderly,
watched over him
Though forbidden to touch
or go near–Sissie cared for him
in her own little girl way
singing all the songs she knew
dropping blades of grass for food
and always–stopping to look over his rigid body.
Sissie showed “Hairball” to Brother
who at first was repulsed by the dead rat
then drawn in by the small body
so all alone on the cold pavement
Brother adopted “Hairball”
and gave him a home
in his broken heart
When Brother felt alone or scared
“Hairball” would come to life,
running on a wheel inside his little boy mind
Faster and faster “Hairball” ran
as the little boy
screamed, raged and threw his fists
against all the hurt he felt
until exhausted the little boy curled into a ball
small fists clenched at his chest,
he would open his eyes
and through the tears, would see Sissie
standing over him, offering a smushed cracker.
“Hairball” is an unlikely pet for an ordinary child
But for two homeless children,
the dead rat with the tiny pink feet
and the gray matted fur
became what they could love.
Grace of Wynn, ©2006
I never wanted anything for myself
I was just a scared, small girl
afraid to look in the mirror.
Because if I looked in that shiny silver
I might see in my face
all the lines and scars
beaten into me.
Might hear the yelling
Might see my parents fighting
Might feel those cold hands tearing into me.
Might feel the utter loneliness of it all
So I close my eyes
and drop all of my fears
into a deep void.
When my lids open
I am carefully blank–
just the way you want me to be.
I never wanted anything for myself
so you took this scared little girl
and made her what you wanted me to be
for the first time I thought I was loved.
The small, frightened little girl
saw you–knew you…
While my body laid bare
and vulnerable to your touch
I so desperately wanted to believe
that you were different, that you truly cared.
Then you left me
for the seductive green felt
of the poker table.
I was pregnant, and willing
to look the other way
as you begged for forgiveness
while you kept your eyes on those clay chips.
And laid your hands on me, so cold
and told me it’d be alright
I returned to the void.
All the broken promises whispered in my ear
and we gambled on a life together
I trusted you–a willing fool
then you stole away into the void.
Only now I wasn’t a scared little girl
I was an angry girl
who felt alone, rejected.
I clenched my fists and demanded
to know when you would be home.
You yelled–said the most hateful things
I remember every word
I remember that you asked me
to leave you alone to the cards.
Poker became your lover
so I backed away,
and took my baby blanket, all alone.
You turned to the seductive
green felt and disappeared
I was a fool to believe
that you would ever return to me.
One night you did not come home
the baby cried for you
I was so afraid.
I made all the phone calls
your friends
the hospitals
the police
I thought I had lost you.
You came back a day later
eyes full of tears,
and lies on your lips.
I felt nothing when the savings
had all been gambled away
I felt nothing as you raged,
blaming me for all your hurt.
When you speak
there is no sound
your words are hollow.
I’m sorry
I will change
I miss you
all lies
You wanted me
scared and vulnerable
once I asked for no more.
You thought that I would not fight,
that I would lay down
like a poker chip
slapped on the table.
And now you pick a new victim
someone small and scared.
Someone young.
as I once was
someone afraid
as I once was.
Someone desperate
to be loved
as I once was.
And the lies begin…
with someone else
to take my place
under your cold hands
I discovered your game
in four pages written
to a scared, little girl.
I saw myself
in those pages
saw you writing my life.
I am no longer scared
no longer a little girl
no longer believing
anything you say.
The woman in me
emerged from the deepest void.
I reached into the void
to pull out all the pain
to feel something real
for the first time in my life
Let the
cold hands
tear into me…
Pulling my hair
kissing my neck
beating down all the
strength a six year old could have
Let the yelling
wound me–
all I held in…
When I tried to tell what happened
I was told it was my fault
something is wrong with her
she is possessed.
Let the fighting parents
tear away my security
exposing my vulnerabilities.
Let the loneliness
fill me once again.
I curled into a ball
and cried over
every word of hate
those tears filled the void
Then I gently called out
the scared little girl
to no longer stand in the dark.
I stroked her unruly locks
and kissed her tear-stained cheeks
and held her shadow form
in my arms whispering, it will be all right.
The scared little girl needed to be loved
so I took her hand,
and lifted her from the void.
I now hold the mirror
in my hands
wanting–
All the lines, all the scars
in my face to show
that despite it all
I am still alive
I don’t need you
to make me your
scared little girl.
I want something
for my life.
I don’t need you to lie
so that I beg for your love
I will love myself
I will heal.
And when this
poem ends
I will already have
w a l k e d
a w a y.
Grace of Wynn, © April 21, 2006
If You are in Need of Help:
AARDVARC is An Abuse, Rape and Domestic Violence Aid and Resource Collection
http://www.aardvarc.org/
The mission of Childhelp is to meet the physical, emotional, and spiritual needs of abused and neglected children
http://www.childhelpusa.org
National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-7233 or 1-800-787-3224 (TTY) – Break the silence, make the call.
http://www.ndvh.org
Let it rain on me
Let thunder steal my breath
Wash away my world
Lord, you shelter me
You shelter me
It’s a promise
By the blood of the Lamb.
Let trials test my faith
Just as iron is
Forged by fire
Lord, you purify me
You purify me
It’s a promise
By the blood of the Lamb.
Let me fall to my knees
With grief too much to bear
Stumbling in the dark
Lord, You surround me with Your light
Surround me with Your light
It’s a promise
By the blood of the Lamb.
Lord, Your Beautiful Son was chosen
A star shone down on Him
To take away our pain
To take away our sin
To take away our fear
To bring joy once again
Jesus was innocent
when He died on the cross
Innocent–
By innocence,
He rose from the grip of death
With a promise to free you,
To free me
To free all generations that will be
By the blood of the Lamb.
Let me promise, Lord
I promise with all my heart–
To believe in You
To love You
To honor You
To be tested by the fire
To be purified
By the blood of the Lamb.
Lynn Mari, ©2006
View Isaiah 53 Online At: http://www.hope.edu/bandstra/BIBLE/ISA/ISA53.HTM
During the day, my son is
Superman with a cape
Leaping, bouncing
Rolling across the pavement
Karate punching the “bad guy”.
At night Superman
Strips off his cape
Puts on a diaper
Sucks his pacifier
Curls into a ball.
Blankets wrapped tight
He sleeps in the old playpen
Trazadone will bring a few hours of peace
From being Superman
A little boy once again.
©2006 Grace of Wynn
Greetings!
When I was a child, there was an old tree stump in my backyard, a marker of the place where the soft green grass of the yard gave way to the thick foliage of the woods. The tree stump bravely faced the final stages of life: yellowing wood caved inwards with rot so profound that the few shavings of bark left were soft as fur. One day, when I was around six years old, I was drawn to sit by the stump. My palms pressed into the damp earth, my fingers curled over the ivory roots protruding from the soil. Above, the sun danced among an awning of verdant leaves, speckling warmth on my shoulders. A voice spoke through the rays of the sun, reverberated from the depths of the rocks beneath the soil, carried on the summer wind: Write, the voice called, Find who you are. Underneath my fingers, I felt the roots of the aged stump grasp my fingers like an old friend. I saw the rays of the sun divide into dazzling colors and layers of light. From the woods, I heard the voice of the forest, squirrels trampling in the brush, branches crackling in the wind. The world suddenly seemed more alive. I found myself gasping to describe all I felt.
Soon after, I began to “write” my first books–drawing pictures because I didn’t know how to write with words, and later that year writing poetry. I was 11 years old when I began writing historical fiction novels. My genre now includes poetry, historical fiction, memoir, short fiction and genealogy. Stands to the Mystery is dedicated to the voice of writing–a mysterious process that uses the writer, much like a conductor, through inspiration, testing and reflection to channel a void of energy into the vibrant expression of words and ideas that ultimately give life to our world.
©2006 Grace of Wynn
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