Just so you understand: My sister is moving from TX to Conway, AR. I'll be there helping her. Fairly sure she will not be set up with WiFi, sooooo I'll respond on your poems as quickly as you put them up, then you'll hear nothing unless I take a break from the chaos and find a library or coffee shop. I just don't know what'll happen, so it may be the following Tuesday when I get back to you.
It was the day
she hurried toward the car
and was startled by
rumbling thunder
from a flock of wild turkeys
rattling the skies
above the empty lot next door.
Turkeys, up ad away,
tilting together.
It was that same day
she found
the treasured pocket knife
her husband had been missing
for over a year.
It was the day
something inside her
upturned, helping
her to grasp cancer
as a bit of history,
not as a death sentence.
Always, she'd see that day as
her sign from heaven,
a promise
like an olive branch
showing her
God would always take her through
dark times,
the day she learned
dry land was out there
somewhere.
It was the day
she hurried toward the car
and was startled by
rumbling thunder
from a flock of wild turkeys
rattling the skies
above the empty lot next door.
Turkeys, up ad away,
tilting together.
It was that same day
she found
the treasured pocket knife
her husband had been missing
for over a year.
It was the day
something inside her
upturned, helping
her to grasp cancer
as a bit of history,
not as a death sentence.
Always, she'd see that day as
her sign from heaven,
a promise
like an olive branch
showing her
God would always take her through
dark times,
the day she learned
dry land was out there
somewhere.