Happy New Year!

One day, a month, then a year goes by and another routine is born out of necessity and we forget to take the time to enjoy the little things.  And every year, we vow to change but this change involves something so large and unrealistic that it becomes unsustainable after a few months.  Although it is man’s nature to want to improve – at least I hope it is – rarely do we see someone sustain this change.  Happiness does not come easily.  Let’s not cheat ourselves of times we may never have a chance to recreate. 

Instead of making a grandiose gesture of “change” this year (like quit smoking or accomplish xyz for your 5 year plan) I have decided to make a meaningful one.  I will not be a slave to routine.  I will remember to breath.  I will remember to take pleasure in the little things.  I will remember to soak up the details of each day and the moments within it.  I will live a fuller, more meaningful life and try not to forget to be thankful for my life.   

After all, aren’t we all after happiness? 

A single freckle

Here we are in the decent of desire,

like scentless daffodils in spring

swaying to the end of our love’s song.

A motionless hour stretches over our eyes

like white canvas, our faces drenched 

in monotone blue  -- bluer still in the light of moon

and the twinkling of a million stars.

Oh how the stars used to favor us

in the quiet simplicity of twilight’s glow.

They fed the fire that burnt and burnt

while the world turned round and round 

like a carousel; and yet, we were going nowhere.

We are stuck in this hour, in this hollow room,

where no memories hang on the walls.

And the moon quivers in the corner

startled by a flamboyant sun --

its judgmental grin, painted across the sky,

flaunting the truth in your eyes.

Then, silence burst in, to prolong the remainder 

of our hour. It is just as well you left the door ajar.

Maybe it will fill this hollowing room. Maybe 

it will surround us, crowds us, until we are lost in it.

Breathe with me. Take in the salt air.

Let the bitter chill bubble up your throat.

We were once swept up into the sea,

only to be spit out among the rubble;

but we shall dance until the last hour—

the very hour the sea resolves to take you back. 

And I will remain a single freckle on the white sand.

2011 © Helena Malheur  

Feel My Own Heartbeat Again

My blood runs through the vines 

draped over the walls of mother’s house;

it runs deeper in the stems and the purple flowers

that rose with each sunlight, each morning,

greeting me with a certain subtlety and grace

that took my heart to places I could never

conjure up on my own.

My heart is in the red rose bushes

spread about the yard in no perfect order;

I miss their intoxicating smell.

My memory of youth is held within their scent,

as are the stings of thorns that bit my little hands

always careful not to leave a permanent mark.

I want to lay in the thousand leaves of grass,
spread my bare hands into the dirt and

feel their hearts beat against my fingertips--

feel my own heartbeat again.

I want to listen to the long necked calla lilies

whisper love and sway with song,

as the sun dances upon my eyelids.

© 2011 Helena Malheur