The Medium Beneath

It flits like a morning song bird finding pieces of my memories to build it's nest.

Children giggle above the doorway 
leaving smells of rose and hints of cattail remains in my floorboards.

You sweep the house
like a new mother,
protecting and directing.

I am caught in this hologram;
an overworked canvas,
giving rise to the medium beneath.

© Feb 1986 Sonja J. Phinney

New Beginning

A flicker and a flash came to me
when you crossed the intersection to the other side
Leaving the room full of ghost bumps.

You're off to earn your angel PHD;
Unbound from the body, wearing a misty memory.

I've come to build a bridge
To where you are and have evidence
That walks with me now.

Gravity may pull,
But when the willows bend
And we are open to the winds,
There is a new beginning at hand
That frees all sorrows.

© 07-Jan-2008 Sonja J. Phinney (for my Dad)

Play the Otherside

A reflection off a window is recorded.
A painting becomes a fractal of this recording.
Our lives, reviewed.

We are thinking of our next moment.

With our husbands, our wives.

Our next moment with our children,
Our next moment, and our next moment.

We are looking for the flip-side of our record
in slow motion.


Unprocessed is this time between the pages,
drifting.

We tend upon aloofness,
a step away from being blindly ignorant.

Catching harbingers is an art,
giving them away is another.


© 15-May-2009 Sonja J. Johnston