Birthday Parties

Two birthday parties
and I wasn't an invited guest at either,
but I heard each word at one
because a dozen pre-teen girls
cannot be quiet; this is a law, and was
I not required to keep such quiet at
school, perhaps their noise would not
have bothered me as much. (It bothered
me a lot, as if no other person in the
pizza place had business there. Don't
get me started on the selfishness of youth.)
The other, on the water, for a toddler
only newly walking, was quieter, and
happier, because there were no pre-teen
girls in sight.  Despite the fact that toddlers
are not known for their politeness, this group
was more reticent, and offered me a cupcake,
then cranked country music (not the good sort,
either) way up, loud, outside my door, a private
concert unrequested. Then, as sunset turned the sky
to pink, the party vanished and ...thank you, Lord...
 they took the music with them.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2014

Grey Sky Did Not Deter

Gray sky did not deter or disappoint,

gray water rippled by the wind beneath

did not present a reason to complain.

The storm did not affect her when it came,

in fact she welcomed it, the stir of wind

and sound of rain.

She didn’t want to ski or fish or dry her skin

to leather in the sun. Quiet. Peace. The solitude

her soul had need of could be had regardless

of the weather.

Because it scared off tourists who had watched

the Weather Channel in disgust and cancelled

reservations at the tiny motel on the highway,
her solitude would be protected even more.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2014

Dark Ages

When Rome still ruled the world,

she wasn't kind to Christians, sending
them into arenas where they entertained
the masses and were killed. God frowned
upon this, I am sure. Down the Romans
went, a month or more of high school history,
learning Latin for the roots, their gods
and myths now studied more for literary musing
than much else. Declining culture, subsequent
invasions and Europe plunged into an odd conflicting darkness. Christians worshipped as they wished, but something evil
worked its way into the mix.
Themselves the brunt of jeers and beatings and
interrogations in years past; delivered now from
enemies in government, expected grace, forgiveness
didn't follow, or they wouldn't likely have embraced
such cruelty. Where was Christ's love? Becoming
like the very ones who persecuted in the past, the tortures
they devised did not make God in heaven frown
this time. His children! So depraved! A hundred
years it lasted, during which he wept. He may be
weeping now, for all I know, for grace again is often
not what Christians show to those around them
without faith, or with a different kind.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2014

Tuesday Passed

I lost a day, the exact same 24 hours

Someone told me today they liked my last poem,
and I couldn't remember what it was.
Because it was two days ago, duh!
I skipped yesterday! Not good!
I borrowed the graphic from a sewing
site. Sew maybe I should say "sew bad."

you had and lived in (hopefully)
peace, or at least relative drama-free
grace. A Tuesday, which when you think
about it, is usually a good day to lose.
Not the beginning of a new week, not
the end, not hump day, just Tuesday.
Sort of like a Thursday, but yesterday was
Tuesday and it passed without a poem.
The words were there. The words and
thoughts and feelings were all there,
but un-acted upon. Dormant. Impotent
without the posting. As if it matters.

It matters to me.

I live my life each day, trying to catch up to
standards that someone else has placed
upon me, trying to achieve, to reach the
goal that others set but never reach
themselves, But this one. A poem a day.
The gauntlet thrown down by a friend,
it matters. Even if it doesn't matter to another
soul. To me, it does. And so, a day was lost
and made up now, so I can sleep.

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2014

Selfish Woman

I heard about an older woman setting out to
find her joy at last, some action finally taken
even though it felt to others, I am sure,
as if she'd pulled the Band aid off too soon.
At least she got up off the couch. At least she
found that there was something that she cared
for (herself, apparently) At least she isn't
passive, wants to feel alive again. However,
in this case, it's just a sham, a make-believe
stand for independence. The cord's not cut,
he's paying still for everything. And so my
kindest thoughts are not for her, because she hasn't really
gone at all. Her shadow lurks behind the curtain,
the promise there (or threat) that she'll
return, quite unannounced and possibly when
they have learned to do without her altogether,
thank you very much. The selfish and the cruel
are like that, I've observed. Do what they want,
and then come back just when the people
whom they left are waking up without the
stress of having them around. It's all about Me,
these people who are glad to take the money
from the ones they've tired of. I shouldn't judge
this woman, and wouldn't if she left alone -- would
realize she has her reasons, not expect to understand
what she's been through, the hurts I cannot fathom --
without the family checkbook. Perhaps it's easier,
on second thought, for her to leave in stages.
First her body. Then her clothes. And then her need,
dependency on what she's gotten used to, what
she's come to think belongs to her because.
And one day, when she's all-the-way gone, her
husband and her child will have the luxury of
missing her, and maybe they will call her up
and ask her if she'd like to come to dinner,
the scab so nicely healed all by itself.
If only she will let them have the time.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2014

Delay

Hundreds sit and wait, delay of flights,
and while there's murmuring, and
calls and conversation in a dozen different
tongues around us, no one doubts that
this is best, full confidence in those who
make decisions that affect so many lives.
How often, though, does life itself throw
wrenches into works, detouring us from
what we'd planned and we find fault,
complain and rant and rave, shaking fists
up to the heavens, and we can't see the
reasons that are there, just out of
reach and view. It's true, we may not
ever know, may never have an explanation
but still, we have the option just to trust.
No matter what, we can do that.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2014

New Beginning

Pre-k Christmas program, line of cherubs singing.

My daughter, a new nursing
school graduate!

When the kid beside her knocked her bell down
from her hand and off the stage onto the floor, I had
to stop myself from stepping in, but Becky didn't miss
a beat, just started clapping. She put the program,
and the song, before her feelings, knew at such a
tender age you have to choose your battles wisely.
I've watched her playing T-ball, volleyball, and get
her GED, seen her walk -- a princess -- down the aisle,
hold her newborn son, play countless games of cards.
I've known her wrath and love and ached throughout
to see her happy. Now a new beginning, such excitement
as the book begins, the plot with all its layers
starting to unfold. All possibility ahead, some of the
characters still hazy, details yet unclear, but she
will always, always clap instead of crying that
someone has done her wrong and made her
miss her place within the song.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2014