His Dream

I was a thought
before my birth.
A dream He spun into the mathematics of time.

As the universe floats
in a consciousness beyond
human understanding,

He still dreams of me.
My days.
My ways.

For He loves all His dreams.

©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef


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Purple Stain

This one shrivelled.
That one plump.
In a rush as I sort the circles.

Pluck a stem,
one is smashed,
mold has grown.
Remove before decay infests
the rest.

Tip toeing through
my morning test of time economy.

Juice runs
purple and sweetness.
Marking the edge of fingerprints.

Box packed
with noon time edibles.
Ready for the day.
Wave goodbye.
The purple stain remains.

©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef


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Hug

Locked,
in the safety
of grounding touch.

Warmth,
giving knowledge
of another’s life.

Accepted,
despite the flow
of wretched tears.

Sharing,
weights
without a word.

Intimate,
trust given
and received.

Released,
yet held in treasured
memory.

Lingering,
on skin
despite distance.

©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef

(Hug, for my Words of Weight project. John’s word.)


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One Harvest Moon

Original drawing by Mary Grace van der Kroef.

It’s 5:30 am.

Mr. Moon is peering through my window.

Wearing his harvest glow like a luminous gem.

Pulling the clouds around himself like a soft collar.

Starting to dip beyond the trees top most branches.

Casting limbs and lingering leaves in to dark silhouette.

It’s 6 am.

The tinny child at my side sleeps.

October’s chill shielded by our shared blanket.

Mr. Moon, don’t wake her again.

It’s 6:30 am.

The sky is deepest navy blue.

Mr. Moon, your framing glow is dipping low.

It’s almost time to say goodnight.

My day starts with a sleepy blur.

I can almost hear a murmured purr.

“Goodnight little Mother.”

How can I be upset?

Dressed in his best, yet lonely.

It’s 6:45 am.

Navy turns to dusky blue.

I have almost lost his golden view.

His exit bringing frosty fog that creeps and crawls.

It’s 7 am.

Sky now misty purple.

How I wish he’d come again.

©Mary Grace van der Kroef 2020