Posted on Jan 7th, 2007
by 
Metta
at last, defined solely by shadow,
I find my wings, beating
a mixture of blackness and light
my arms inch into this new movement -
tired, from so many long years
and attempts at being an angel
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Posted on Jan 11th, 2007
by Metta
Early morning – there is a band of white light
set against the blackness of the window -
all that is left of a full moon.
My days have this stripe, too
amidst the sweeping, the cleaning and selling of soul -
the one bright strip which appears for a moment –
like the begging of God before dawn.
Oh, I pray that on this arising I will not be the old married wife
so comfortable in your closeness;
that this will not be a common, “good morning,”
and the race horse of my blood will ride again once
before the smell of sleep has departed.
Hands will reach to my heart and hold you, aware and awed,
and my chest might be heavy again with the weight of you.
Oh, where is that powerful whimper?
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Posted on Jan 17th, 2007
by Metta
My little family of 3 came down with the flu - one daughter on Thursday, myself on Friday, and my other daughter on Saturday and we have been busy mending. I think one daughter will be able to go back to school tomorrow but my youngest and I are still spending much time in bed...
its why I've been so quiet... but I'll be back around soon.
Love,
Metta
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poetry
November 2008 
