Homestead

When she moved to this town,

This girl didn't plan to stay;

Rather, she set up camp and bedsack

To learn and explore and play.

She really grew up here in this town:

Finding her wings and making mistakes,

Twenty-something, thirty-something,

Learning to breathe in her own skin.

Hers was a soul that chased the sun,

Passionately loved and fearlessly,

Uncompromisingly, and unapologettically

Determined to live a life worth writing about.

Unafraid to stare full in reflective surfaces,

This girl longed to know the good, the bad,

About herself, the world as she knew it,

Analytical and retrospective to a fault.

And yet here she is, forty-something,

With a husband and daughter,

And two step-daughters,

Contemplating the roots she's put down.

Did I stand still for too long?

Yet tomorrow, she commits to her first home:

Her campsite traded for something more permanent.

She is cognizant of the shifting within her own walls:

And wonders at this turn of events.

When did this happen to me?

Somewhere, along the way, things had changed

And this girl was a girl no more.

Strangely, awkwardly, this woman trades her tent 

For the uncertainty of the homestead.

"Such Transitions"

It's a "New Season," It's a "New Day";

"Turning a New Page," 

"It's Transition! It's Progress!"

What labels they make for change.

But what happens when one is forced

To turn the page, start a new chapter?

What if the transition is mandated 

By someone who deems you no longer of use?

I see it in her eyes--diminished sparkle.

I see it in her steps--slower pace.

This new season, page, chapter

Has aged her fifteen years.

Too bad such transitions fail to come

With pre-arranged contingency plans:

Some people figure you'll find a way to swim

After they throw you to the sharks.

I WILL her to survive, praying fervently

For her to regain her composure,

Set new goals for herself, and become

The Woman I know still breathes within her.

I DO believe that "all things work to our good,"

But that doesn't make some transitions any easier.

I pray, eventually, her dampered spirits and

Her damaged self-esteem will be redeemed.

I DARE to believe she will regain what she's lost,

Recover what has been damaged:

I will see her dance again, laugh heartily,

Embracing every moment of her life again.

Pick up your feet, my sister, and welcome the morning:

You were meant for more than the box they've assigned you to.

Stand up straight, Magnificent Woman--and walk with the dignity

And respect and honor you have earned and deserve.