Advent

Advent

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That son drove miles home from college, as our advent returns.

Three on the tree, rust in cab, all weather tires drives us places.

Traditions change, first I'm not hosting holiday, bringing dishes.

The anticipation stirs a joyful; there's no Pinterest recipe for this.

To go ahead, look back, mountain lion mauled deer on the stones.

Thyme, sage, and basil  - smoke fills house - cause bees distress.
Table places set. No soot, no charcoal, no fire spark on wind pants.
Thanksgiving with other family moves away from  dis-functions. 

Talented sibling says: liar!  Where truck keys?  Escape bell rings.

 Through divorce struggle, insurance more than college payments.
Take off in open gown when radiologist sighs  before surgeries.

Tap clean windows for seashell echo of newsprint vinegar seas.

Tail of raven twitches on doe carcass, he knows where cabin lies.

Turn on mud flood road, skate to sanctuary for rare butterflies. 

Talents to ignore with silence, never show for its not anxieties.

Take lover who treats your core as not as chosen, not pretties.
To return after prison spell, dig up clover seeds in coffee cans.
Though means well, confess sins, forgot to cover mouse traps.
Those excuses...

Today start over, walk those open hearts.
These hands ready, Mailed blankets to Fort Yates.
Time to listen, hope and be kinder begins.
Thus prepare the robbed, shunned, and lonely for festivities. 

The list ahead is full of jobs, jot notes in the phone to pages.
The King comes.

Advent Poem
Copyright Caroline Gerardo November 27, 2016
Photograph I took at Flannery O'Conner's home

Grateful For Glow of Love

Chat about the day.
You wait on me, dinner from La Serena grill.
Relaxation.
A movie together smolders into shared passion.
The sounds of traffic blur by the call of the surf.
Ocean dances rhythmically under the grateful firmament.
She gives Christmas lights, before the holiday, all free.
It is Fall.
Sweet gum leaves dry to take flight
only to be spilled crunchy into the fire.
We bake an atmosphere of crimson cinnamon.

I return home to an existence of frightening darkness. 

You have an early morning. 

I make my getaway on the spine of leaves 

or I will fail and stay within your rose colored bed.

Outside, the moon opens a bowl low 

waiting for the cereal of stars to fill her up. 

Dipper shines low in the northern horizon. 

Polaris finds her way over the glimmer of ocean. 

My car rear lights require new bulbs. 

Santa Ana winds whistle offshore. 

They paint the sunset dusty scarlet, 

make the night sky open deeper. 

Heaven grants seer ability to pierce through minds.

Grateful for the glow of love.

Happy Thanksgiving 

Caroline Gerardo

Paintings on left are Van Gogh Autumn Trees
The crescent moon was out over Laguna Beach last night
I wish you all a moment of reflection for the simple
gifts we are given.
Love,
C G

Say Grace in The Moment

 The aroma of rosemary and turkey roasting filled the house. They celebrated Thanksgiving on the weekend to accommodate in-laws, outlaws and parenting schedules. Great Grandmother's quilts covered the tables. Over the chatter of voices, Kitty continued to listen for his car. Cocktail hour passed, and the hors d'oeuvres  disappeared. The ache in her knee wasn't barometric pressure, it was the answer to her prayer about facing reality. He wasn't going to walk through that door.

 

"Lets hold hands when we say grace." Kitty's eldest Marie put out her small hand.

 

"Thank you Lord for all our blessings..."

 

Kitty's blonde hair was scrambled into a knotted bun. She did this to keep it out of the way. After dinner was finished she loosened the rubber band over the sink. A single bubble from the Dawn dish soap floated into her tresses. She could see it in her reflection of the window over the sink.

 

Iridescent like the beginnings of a tear drop, the bubble remained and did not pop. Kitty made one more wish prayer that he might just show for desert.

 

When the apple and rhubarb pies were passed Kitty felt as if barbed wire encircled her rib cage. Then something opened her heart. A drift wood log jam down stream broke apart the worry and loss. Here at the table sat those who she adored, and those who loved her back.

 

"Thank you all for coming. Amen."

 

Thanksgiving Mourning Wing Sounds Poem

It is Thanksgiving in Canada,

there is an opposite season in the world.

October sunflowers return on the hillside in random rows.

Seedlings from my colossal variegated propped up blooms.

A cherry tomato gone wild is more elegant than Monsanto’s.

I was honest last Thanksgiving,
but he holds his own version story.

How long will the healing process take?

How should I know?

My life has an egg timer, there are three mouths to feed.

After years of caring, the heart does not want

 to let loose the guide rope so easy.

A hot air balloon unattached to the basket

mid-air mid-life wanting to stay connected.

Missing the sound of the girlies wings.

Pruning of my hybrid teas does not change

ramblings of climbers & stray hummingbirds.
I am happy in my soul.

I stopped filling the feeders,

 I gave up the trail with old haunts,

until my fingers bleed at the cuticles,

but still that sprout gets into my dreams.