When the dyke breaks

water rushes down the gorge into a larger pool

that absorbs all the water from above, mixing below

all the sorrows of the world seep into the earth.

It is at those moments of emptying

that we know You are there.

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--

doesn’t tell you in Matisse’s paint is the story.

You can guess, the rapturic calm on the right

changed halfway, through life, to the moldy, used

green side on the left. You could be looking at a wedding photo,

before and after. I don’t judge. I just repaint the copy

tryin with color and composition to understand the metamorphosis.

BET

Mateesing

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These days I cover myself in fleece blankets that my mother used in the nursing home. Her name, room number and facility are emblazoned in a corner.
“if covid don’t kill me, its variant will,” I sing in sadness and
huddle beneath the soft acrylic blue, designs of navy and white,
While I cower beneath the lights of the television news
and the hate bearing down on our capitol ,
there is warmth beneath the darkness, heat generated in memory and love.

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Barbara Tifft

Barbara Tifft

Writer, thinker, lifelong learner, artist, helper, empath, storyteller, lover of beauty and all things wild