he's here

he's here.  26 december 2013.

he is handsome, sweet, quiet, and perfect as all babies are.

i love him with a quiet, deep emotion that can fill me with awe.

i love my own children with that kind of love.

i hope to be able to teach him things; abstract things like kindness, tolerance, logical deductions, and the profoundness found in books.

i hope to be able to show him rainbows, dew on grass blades, all the different kinds of life at the ocean's edge, and the shadows that play across a flag was it furls and unfurls in a strong breeze.

i hope to be able to answer his questions and give him more questions for us to find out the answers together.

i hope he can grow to love me.

~

it's the last night of 2013.

going to bed early.

no plans.

no one to do anything with.

curl up with my dogs and try to forget the day,

the loneliness, 

my current respiratory illness,

the fact that i have to get up to go to work tomorrow.

i wish i could be with them - my daughter and her new baby.

but he is so new, and i am so sick.

i wish i could talk to my Dragon.

i'd like to be held once more.

i'd like to fall into a deep, restorative sleep in his arms.

i'd like to think he's doing great.

i'd like to think he still loves me

on Christmas Eve ~ for those who have nothing

i can't remember the last time a door was held for me;
that i didn't sleep on a concrete rug,
that people didn't ignore me.
i can't remember what it's like to have your stomach full;
or be as warm as a piece of toast,
or wear tweed, silk, or wool.
i can't remember if i ever really had a home;
a place to settle and sit for a spell,
a place to call my own.

all i have is a shopping cart that's full of memories:
full of things i no longer am,
full of things i used to be.
all i have to keep with me are pictures, quilts, and self;
things to keep me warm inside,
things that have no wealth.
all i have to worry about would horrify you tonight;
the cold, no food, no place to sleep,
the dark, no friends, no light.

i don't have a home anymore.  i live out on the street;
never to cook and clean a place,
never to kick my shoes off my feet.
i don't have a family now.  they are all lost to me;
never to fuss and do for them,
never their faces to see.
i don't have a lot of things, but one thing i do keep;
i have myself to talk to,
i keep myself hidden deep.

i need help from time to time, and sometimes it works out;
some people are a Godsend,
some people are ignorant louts.
i need to be allowed to have my dignity and my space.
don't tell me what i should have done.
don't put me in my place.
i need to know someone's aware i'm still a human being;
with hopes and dreams of my own,
with awareness that my life may have meaning.

i want someone to remember that i'm out here when it snows;
or whenever the weather turns awful with rain,
or whenever it's cold and bad, you know?
i want someone to remember to care about whatever happens to me;
to care about where i am,
to care enough to come see.
i want someone to remember that i'm alone out on the street;
to understand that i'm afraid,
to understand that i'm beat.

i think that people everywhere should try to visualize;
what it's like to be without,
what it's like to be despised.
i think if they could understand how life goes wrong for some;
they wouldn't treat us like trash,
they wouldn't act as if we're dumb.
i think if people could remember that Our Lord helped people like me;
then they'd find Christ in themselves,
then they'd see Christ in me.

"the Lord bless you and keep you.  the Lord make His face shine on you, and be gracious to you.  the Lord lift up His countenance upon you and give you peace."  ~ Numbers 6:25.