Determined

Is it possible to make an icon from a found stone or doctrine?
It is, we do. Inscribe a thing with meaning, cinch it to importance.
Somehow, I have plastered someone to my cuff,
I have set her face upon a coin.
I have placed her leaving in the center of the dining room table.

If I must, it is time to be encumbered
by something real: this red pen,
the paper I am writing on,
the spoon in my warm turkey noodle soup.
My skin is soft tonight, my eyes softer,
my heart has beat a ridiculously
determined two million times since she left.

If I am to make an icon, let me make an icon of this:
the millstone, the grinding,
the grain, the creation of bread.
The butter churned, the bread buttered,
the chewing of the hurt into the tiniest morsels possible.

May

The only way to believe is to divorce your grit from your wellspring.  Yes, under the stairwell, you are ankle deep in doubt, but it does not take much to step up into hope,  Listen to May.  The way the lilies preach, trinket white bells ringing.  Listen to the way the tulips pray, mouths open to their song.  Bury your barnacle fear,  that which has partnered you to your smaller self.  Listen to May.  The color embroidery of May.  Yes, the lazy winter you has been sitting in a cozy uncle chair napping.  Wake yourself up. Ordain this moment.  Bless the next next. There is no need to be ginger.  No need to douse yourself with some false perfume.  Smell the May.  Listen to May.  Marry yourself to May.