In peace,

Majesty’s detail

soars…

lifting me

with colors of hope

on wings of grace.

Patricia Spreng

Meeting with friends over at Sandy's and Deidra's places... come join us, please.  You won't be disappointed.

The Helpers

On the edge of their seats, they sat.
Snap, Crackle, and Pop.
Waiting to do just that.

Having stress poured over them
for the first time,
trying to help
by wringing out helpless hands.

Startled by every move,
every spoonful of air he gulped,
it was she who
filled their cups.

For all the help they were,

they might as well have
been named
Friction, Fray and Knee Jerk.

Patricia Spreng

Joining d’Verse Open Link Night.  Come and see the wonderful words of  poets.

Consolation

Consolation by Patricia Spreng

She drew a slow, deep breath and walked down the long hallway.
Passing rooms of other dying patients,
she stopped and looked out the window... for anything.
Standing there, staring, she prayed... wordlessly.
Her head knowledge did not help her heart at all.
It kept beating to the rhythm of “why.”
She’d been here before and she knew better than to ask.

He laid there, curled,  as she searched his withdrawal for eyes.

When he opened them,
she introduced herself as though he was one of the old men she was accustomed to,
but wasn’t.
The moment she heard her own overly sweet tone escape her lips,  
she looked away, wishing she could start over

(reminding her of the myriad of mistakes she’d made on answering machines before.)

There was nothing sweet about this.
He was an old friend and she wasn’t sure if he’d remember.
A  young, beautiful man in an old, sick, dying body.
Reaching out, she touched his hand.
“I remember you,” he said.

Swallowing, she tamped her vocal chords,  

and began again…

“I didn’t expect to find you here.                      This is no place for you.

But  this is the best place for you.

We will take good care of you.

                           I know it hurts. 
                                                   You'll find comfort here.”

Her tears welled and fell… and she smiled at him.
Knowing it didn’t matter that her words felt so disjointed.
To be present.  To be with. To enter into another’s suffering.
Which profound word could possibly make a difference?
What prayer would change God’s will, now?

His breathing shallow, his speech labored.
He hurt, in so many ways.
It wasn’t about her words.
Then he reached for her hand.

To be still.
To touch.  
To hold.
To pray.
To be present.

Without changing anything,
something changes.

Patricia Spreng

There's a conversation going on over at Tweetspeak Poetry.  It's about a book called Rumor's of Water by L.L. Barkat and chapters 9-13 are about finding your voice as a writer. My friend Lyla Lindquist is leading the discussion.  I'm about 13 chapters behind my friends. I have the book, but I think I'm the only one who hasn't read it yet.   But, I'm with them in spirit.  I came home from a rough day at work today and decided I'd join them.  I don't really want the voice of death. But, I definitely work in a place of death.  I am a sanguine soul, dancing through life creatively. I see comedy in almost everything ... and this hospice work is where God has called me.  So far, by his grace and strength, I embrace it.

Frequency

waves
of kilohertz and megahertz
sounding, pounding
through your body
‘til it hurts
I can hear your
pain

Patricia  Spreng 

Joining with d'Verse poets  where you will find the wonderful words of poets... come and see for yourself.

Taking a break to sleep, slow down and play with my girls in the surf and sun.

wash over me

with undulating laughter

his rays of grace

splash warmth 

                                                             
                                                                                    til our bodies fall
                                                                                                 
                                                                                                               and  sleep

         

                in peace