Posted in Poetry

flames flicker fervently

atop a large white candle.

two halves, now one,

make a smooth white whole.

two wicks, separately lit,

lean toward each other,

not touching, their two lights

joined in one inseparable flame.

a great mystery has occurred:

two wicks produce one flame

two lives become one flesh.

{Copyright (c) 2005 C. Paden. All rights reserved.}

Posted in Poetry

on the walk in front of me

all my senses feel and see

a little crack that runs straight down

thru to the Other Side of ground.

and tho my eye somehow can't see

what all my senses say to be,

my ear could hear the sounds, i know,

if only the noise were not quite so.

perhaps at midnite i'll be back

and put my nose to that endless crack

and China's fragrances i will smell

. . . and that will tell.

{Copyright (c) 2005 C. Paden. All rights reserved.}

Posted in Poetry

not a wonder

not a miracle

not a once-in-a-lifetime chance

not a strange thing

not unheard of

not a singular happenstance

not amazing

not unusual

not a "blue moon" kind of thing

just a baby

just a little one

just fulfillment of all their dreams

{Copyright (c) 2005 C. Paden. All rights reserved.}

Posted in Poetry

when i'm five she says

i will be a big girl.

when i'm five, she says

i will sleep in my own bed

     in my own room.

when i'm five, she says

i will know how to swim

     and i will not be afraid of the deep water

     and i will jump off the diving board

          just like william, who is five.

     and one night

          before the milestone is reached,

i don't need to nurse any more she says

i am almost five and five-year-olds don't nurse.

not quite five years of intimacy at my breast

terminated by this childishly mature announcement

     a little thrill, because she's so grown

     a little guilt, because I've longed for these words

          mostly a piercing poignance -

how can she be five years old?

so I cry a little

     and we fall asleep holding hands.

because she's not five yet.

{Copyright (c) 2005 C. Paden. All rights reserved.}

Posted in Poetry

You want to say

guess what your granddaughter did today?

she's growing so fast and smart

she loves you and misses you, Mom,

and can't wait to see you again,

but you can't.

You want to say

I understand now about a lot of things,

like losing someone you love

let's talk about it

and you can help me through it, Mom,

like you helped with a million other things before,

but you can't.

You want to say

once more or a thousand times more,

Mom, I love you; I love you Mama!

because the two hundred twenty-eight

or so times you said it those last two days

as you watched each laboring breath,

wondering if this one were the last,

were not enough, will never be enough, ...

{Copyright (c) 2005 C. Paden. All rights reserved.}

Posted in Poetry

i think of my father

who sits alone tonight

who misses his sweetheart

who will probably remarry

because man was not meant to be alone

in this stupid, senseless world

where my mother is dead

with grandchildren yet unborn

and in spite of it all

in spite of the Sacrifice

and faith and hope and love remaining

o death there is a sting

{Copyright (c) 2005 C. Paden. All rights reserved.}

Posted in Poetry

In your high chair you sit

beside me standing at the sink

watching my hands in and out of the soapy water

When suddenly I am not at the sink looking down

but beside it looking up

up at her hands in water like this

Hands that looked then as mine look now

long and a little bony

with veins that show ropy and blue

And through a sudden shine of tears

I cannot see my hands at all

or you

But only hands

hands that will not hold mine again

hands that won't write my name again

Hands that won't lift her grandchildren as she lifted you only once

then waited for others to place them gently in her lap

then folded together empty forever

Your sweet fat hands my daughter

that look like starfish now

in silhouette against a nightlighted ceiling

Your hands like mine

will grow long and a little bony

will someday show blue ropy veins

And you will wonder peevishly

why your hands must grow to look like mine

as I once wondered why mine must grow like hers

You will not know that they are her hands

long departed

and that her hands caressed you through mine

{Copyright (c) 2005 C. Paden. All rights reserved.}