Three Poems by Celaine Charles

The Color of Love

I wrap up in the color of you,
pure and translucent,
hazel eyes gleam in the moonlight.
Hidden hues hide
behind shadowed branches,
moss, and ivy
encircling our spot.

In the universe we stand
under the night sky,
your hand in mine,
walking in summer’s warmth
left over
from the day we frolicked
through blades of grass.

We climbed the rocks,
admired the daisies,
spotted and few, but enough
to share in their purity,
not unlike your heart
that beats
against my chest.

When you cling to my side
golden locks lace the evening breeze,
tossing us back,
onto the blanket,
pink from your little girl room.
The place I never want you
far away, without stars to paint

your hands — ivory porcelain,
a pitcher never empty of giving.
Your arms, an eagle’s wings
to fly home if ever
you are lost.
Your legs, sturdy as tall trunks
to hold up the sky…

And only         because I love you
will I share you           with the earth.


Willows and Cherry

Little boy chatters on about a willow and a cherry tree,
his head turns and takes in the view around.
Must be the sunny weather after a long rainy season,
stirring something deep in his imagination.

He rattles on about these trees in his yard, and I remember
two willows and a pie cherry tree in my own backyard
as a little girl. I never liked pie, though mom baked plenty.
Now, far away from that backyard, I crave a heaping plate.

Cherry pie thoughts behind my eyes, still minding this clever boy;
he has no idea the memories he’s unbound,
when he looks at me, his stargaze like the willows I remember,
“I think the trees had a conversation.”

“Of course they did.” I believe him with all my heart.
A chorus from my childhood begins to play,
swaying willows rock me in comfort, their boughs shade regret,
and the cherry tree dots with robins, drunk in excess.

Slow years of youth race before my eyes, lift in the breeze,
the same wind blows little boy’s sandy hair; reverie swirls away.
Time lost in the moment, he runs off to play in the sun…
leaving me grateful I slowed down to listen.


Love is a Long Time

It’s stitched by hand with spectacles that see past faults;
sore fingers that smooth wrinkles
cursed by years.

It’s warmth on a cold day, wrapped around regret;
covering unspoken truths
soon to be forgotten.

It’s shaded in sunsets to hide humiliation where it can’t hurt;
bound at the seams, water tight
against sorrow.

It’s soft as flower petals, fenced in from tromping feet, yet brave;
billowing strongly around shame and lightly
on forgiveness.

It’s an old quilt forgotten in that dusty box from the attic;
an heirloom handed down when all else
was lost…

Love is a long time.

 

Celaine Charles is a published poet who lives in the Pacific Northwest where she teaches, writes poetry and fiction, and blogs about her writing journey, http://www.stepsinbetween.com. Her poetry series, “Colours” can be found, https://channillo.com/series/colors/. She has published in various presses and was a poetry finalist in PNWA’s Literary Contest, 2017.

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