Biographer's Meditation

In school we studied names and dates
Of you who came before
But stories whispered in my dreams
Tell me there's so much more.
I thirst for more to memorize,
More links to eras past.
From pages of debates and wars
I hear your voice at last.
I must write your story;
I must try at least.
Now sparks from your soul
To my heart increase.
With unfrozen breath
From you whom we call "dead"
I transcribe with devotion
Things you might have said.

© Judith C Evans 2009

Submitted to Poetry Pantry #60 at Poets United.

July 31

From ornamental olive tree outside laundry room: July's lavender snowfall.

July 30

Our black, brown and white cat stretches out under the ceiling fan, dreaming with one eye open.

July 29

An original thought battles cross currents and drought to wash up on an uninhabited page.

July 28

Internet connection temporarily lost -- brain awakens to this moment.

July 27

Computer-red eyes gaze gleefully at the calendar: four more small stones after tonight!!

July 26

Black pepper-flecked country gravy fills mashed potato valleys.

July 25

On the windowsill of my mother's room, our cat stretches in bright evening sunlight.

July 24

The usual patch of light: an imperceptible change nudges us toward fall.

July 23

Crumbly, steaming whole grain blueberry muffins draw surprised, sleepy-eyed smiles.

July 22

Softened green roadside weeds and grasses thank the rare raindrops.

July 21

A nestling, all feathers and fuzz, huddles against our wall and listens to our worried voices.

July 20

Grackles finished nesting, and we can hear the neighbors' wind chimes again.

July 19

Living waters bathe the sorrowful soil. Hope, bewildered, sends up green shoots.

July 18

Cracked, sun-stricken soil turns to powder in brush country wind. Brass-colored cornstalks stand tall.

July 17

72% of Texas in exceptional drought: a statistic for some, singed cornfields and auctions for others.

July 16

Cool, sweet, crunchy shapes in cold milk: bedtime snack.

July 15

Our cat's warm, purring body nestles against my chest as he kneads the day's burdens from my shoulder.

July 14

Wrote "just one more post"...my numb fingers beg my brain to look inward.

July 13

Alone with chocolate-cake-in-a-mug recipe: bakery aromas waft from the microwave as husband and cat sleep.

July 12

Blue and white networking pages: which "real me" is on what resume?

July 11

Three articles later: burning eyes, temperamental internet connection. Good night.

July 10

Blackbirds invite the evening with song as Monday creeps in too soon.

July 9

 Whole wheat pizza dough's beery aroma permeates the kitchen as chopped tomatoes glisten on the bamboo cutting board.

July 8

Friday evening: in a grayish tan stoneware mug, steaming lemon balm tea with raw sugar is quietly pressed into service.

July 7

Object of game: line up matching gems. A flurry of worries dissolves into flashing, tumbling, orange, blue, red, green, and yellow jewels.

July 6

Coffee-colored yarn loops around the blue crochet hook. Our cat, mesmerized, plots and schemes as the skein unwinds.

July 5

Spent, we drive home after my appointment: towering, benevolent live oaks recall Texas afternoons hotter than these.

July 4

We busily reflect on self-evident truths as July Fourth dinner sizzles in the skillet.

July 4

Vintage beads, Ancient "Light", Heart of Joy!

small stone written by my husband, John Evans

July 3

Soft feline fur-angel kneads and squints.

July 2

Pastel art: layer upon layer, powdered pigments coat my fingers in peach, sky blue, and French gray silk.

July 1

White-gold grass tops barely nod in the thick Texas breeze.