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Mosaic

Mosaic: Broken pieces Beautiful life. Tuesday, December 21, 2010. When I was a child. I would run my fingers. Over embossed pictures of you. In your mother's lap. If I could sit in yours. I would slide my creamy hand. Around your olive neck. And hold tight,. Burying my shame in your shoulder. And we would weep together. Over the loss of my innocence. And the unfairness of life. I am older now. But not quite grown. And I still long. For the intimacy of your embrace. Because even the joy of life is too much.

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Mosaic | todayistheadventure.blogspot.com Reviews

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Mosaic: Broken pieces Beautiful life. Tuesday, December 21, 2010. When I was a child. I would run my fingers. Over embossed pictures of you. In your mother's lap. If I could sit in yours. I would slide my creamy hand. Around your olive neck. And hold tight,. Burying my shame in your shoulder. And we would weep together. Over the loss of my innocence. And the unfairness of life. I am older now. But not quite grown. And I still long. For the intimacy of your embrace. Because even the joy of life is too much.

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1 skip to main

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3 sitting joyfully

4 and wonder

5 to bear alone

6 and i wonder

7 with every breath

8 again

9 posted by

10 lisa

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Mosaic | todayistheadventure.blogspot.com Reviews

https://todayistheadventure.blogspot.com

Mosaic: Broken pieces Beautiful life. Tuesday, December 21, 2010. When I was a child. I would run my fingers. Over embossed pictures of you. In your mother's lap. If I could sit in yours. I would slide my creamy hand. Around your olive neck. And hold tight,. Burying my shame in your shoulder. And we would weep together. Over the loss of my innocence. And the unfairness of life. I am older now. But not quite grown. And I still long. For the intimacy of your embrace. Because even the joy of life is too much.

INTERNAL PAGES

todayistheadventure.blogspot.com

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Mosaic: November 2009

http://todayistheadventure.blogspot.com/2009_11_01_archive.html

Mosaic: Broken pieces Beautiful life. Monday, November 30, 2009. I never write poetry. But I am feeling a little sorrowful tonight, and rather than carry on, I wrote this:. Belonging to you is like drowning. Gasping for the air of your approval. The sunshine of your love. And tasting mostly brine. In your own way, you try to save me. Though all of your affections are weighted. By conditions and excuses. Struggling toward the shore,. I imagine a life without you. But I am sucked down by pity. Take a Look-...

2

Mosaic: A crawfishy tale

http://todayistheadventure.blogspot.com/2010/05/crawfishy-tale.html

Mosaic: Broken pieces Beautiful life. Monday, May 31, 2010. I suppose my grandmother (Mimi to me) had always been a rebel. At 5'9" she betrayed her Cajun heritage by growing taller than almost everyone in her family. Her shoulders and hands were tiny, though- very French. After her first husband left her, she married a non-Catholic-. Scandalous in her family. She loved life and had a wicked sense of humor. She once told the lady at the Lancome. And laughed her sweet, diabolical laugh. Poor guy. And is co...

3

Mosaic: December 2010

http://todayistheadventure.blogspot.com/2010_12_01_archive.html

Mosaic: Broken pieces Beautiful life. Tuesday, December 21, 2010. When I was a child. I would run my fingers. Over embossed pictures of you. In your mother's lap. If I could sit in yours. I would slide my creamy hand. Around your olive neck. And hold tight,. Burying my shame in your shoulder. And we would weep together. Over the loss of my innocence. And the unfairness of life. I am older now. But not quite grown. And I still long. For the intimacy of your embrace. Because even the joy of life is too much.

4

Mosaic: Magpie #16

http://todayistheadventure.blogspot.com/2010/05/magpie-16.html

Mosaic: Broken pieces Beautiful life. Thursday, May 27, 2010. What is the sound of your trial by fire. Is it the soft unlatching of sandals. For the sake of holy ground. Only to walk the coals. On the last of your faith. Is it the escaped groan. Of watching your dream slip. The long, slow fall. Like broken glass under bare feet. Is it the mother's staccato lament. Planting the son of promise. Into the eager earth. Perhaps it is the trickle of a briny bath. While hope walks away. Like a fickle lover.

5

Mosaic: Hello, Again

http://todayistheadventure.blogspot.com/2010/11/hello-again.html

Mosaic: Broken pieces Beautiful life. Wednesday, November 3, 2010. At age 40, I had a baby in my bed. I died that same night. The day itself seemed unremarkable- steady contractions still lingering from Monday and Tuesday. Nothing a nap and a bath wouldn't cure, I thought. But during my nap, I awoke several times with contractions that made me grip the bed. Not so much from pain, but more as though someone were squeezing me from the inside out. Panicked, I questioned the thoughts churning under my perfec...

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toastedknees.wordpress.com

An Occasion Requiring Shoes | Toasted Knees

https://toastedknees.wordpress.com/2010/05/28/an-occasion-requiring-shoes

An Occasion Requiring Shoes. This was written using the visual prompt at Magpie Tales. Glad to get home and remove those instruments of torture! I must be getting old! I mostly like to wear something comfortable, and if they are a little bit old and worn I don’t really mind. The heels on those shoes only look low, but when you’ve got to wear them for several hours they might as well be four-inch heels. These days I’m built for comfort, not speed. Turn my toes up I don’t want. 18 responses ». 01/06/2010 a...

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Mosaic

Mosaic: Broken pieces Beautiful life. Tuesday, December 21, 2010. When I was a child. I would run my fingers. Over embossed pictures of you. In your mother's lap. If I could sit in yours. I would slide my creamy hand. Around your olive neck. And hold tight,. Burying my shame in your shoulder. And we would weep together. Over the loss of my innocence. And the unfairness of life. I am older now. But not quite grown. And I still long. For the intimacy of your embrace. Because even the joy of life is too much.

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