Layers of Years

I am privileged
To watch youth fade.

I am blessed,
To count the whispers of gray
That wave.

May I be privileged
To taste the wisdom on temples,
Hold the gentleness
Of fingers,
Love the layers of years
Within you.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

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Lovers Getaway

The joy of wriggling feet in wet sand as waves tease toes with cool kisses, one after the other in the rhythmic love of touch.
Whet sand sticks to heals. Tinny particles embedded in natural valleys of skin, playing as if they lived there when it’s vacation day.
The sand paper feel of brushing particles of rocks from flesh, and finding them attached to palm and fingers and hiding in, in between places.
Better to walk the shores barefoot, letting the warmth of sun and wind do their work? Watch the dark sands lighten to dry dust.
Brush hands together to cast tinny stones aside. Now ankles can be cleared of minuscule boulders, only the finest of glittering flecks remain as reminders of earth and skins dalliance.
Sandals laced. Only a stone here and there, stealing a peck from human follicles. Goodbye, kisses. Reluctantly brushed aside.

“Tomorrow.”

We whisper to the waves as the beach house light beckons. The courtship of human hearts and beach lasts only a day.
In the morning waves crash and clouds weep their farewell as a drizzle, on our last beach walk.

We can hear the gulls cry, “Don’t leave!” The salty breeze seals love like heartache to our memory with scent we won’t forget.
He holds the suitcase as I hold him.

“We’ll come back someday.”

The sand hiding in spaces between sandal leather and sole won’t let me forget this promise.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef

Lovers Getaway was originally published in Dwelling Literary Issue 8: BEACH HOUSE.


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Reservoir of Tears

Reservoir of tears
aqueduct of word
release an angry flood
meaning becomes blurred

Bursting opened taps
short vessels made of clay
gushing on the floor
encasement to betray

Floorboards soaked expand
no longer toured with ease
watch out for lilting planks
slowing down our speed

Now in laboured love
mop and pail in hand
reserving wasted words
reclaiming tears unplanned

Together, as a pair
working, side by side
we’ll fix the broken pipes
turn off destructive tides

Buckets brimming full
water garden beds
washing grunge from panes
also grimy heads

Still important words
filled with precious tears
one ladle at a time
preserved for drought years

©2020 Mary Grace van der Kroef

“Reservoir of Tears” originally appeared in Issue II of the Kitchen Sink Magazine.


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Lovers Getaway/Dwelling Literary

Dwelling Literary has again redecorated and on July 1st my piece, Lovers Getaway dropped as part of their BEACH HOUSE Issue.

BEACH HOUSE will continue to be an interactive experience on the home page for the month of July, after which all included pieces will remain in their Archives.

Dwelling literary continues to be a great sight to interact with and write for on a monthly basis. I encourage all of my friends to check out there monthly themes. Thank you!


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Chords

As the guitarist placed a pick on metal strings, the first notes of music were born. Together, they made chords. Waves wrapped around each other, then dove into the blackness of guitar’s belly.

A single Wave came awake. Was it particles all clumped together? No. It was sound. A singleness that moved and bounced and collided with its siblings within the darkness.

“Were did the light go?”

At the moment of birth, was brightness. Then speed swallowed light, and shadowed hardness housed multitudes, and became Wave’s world.

The journey changed Wave. With every bounce it slowed, or speed up. It brushed, or joined, then ripped away from a sibling. When this happened Wave warped.

It was pain and pleasure. An existence of experience crammed within small spaces, and fragments of time. Edges of knowing were fuzzy. If Wave had known what time was, it would have seen its lines. It followed them, unaware.

“Where is the light?”

Can a wave remember? This one was searching for something. A doorway? Freedom? There!

The abruptness of existence ceased and Wave sprang past metal strings to bright openness.

It sliced past dust particles suspended in air and rocked them with its wake. They danced and waved goodbye.

The lines of time directed Wave’s path, and in a blink it knew a human. It stretched within the openness, only to fold across the mass of skin and hair, seeping through fabric to touch warmth and disappear.

As Wave broke apart upon the mountain of flesh, it found a tunnel. Small, hot, yet soft. A shard of Wave reverberated down this narrow well. It touched taught skin and changed again.

Wave was tinny, yet it filled the entirety of a human. It shivered between skin and bones, liquid lines that reached out and sought understanding. It joined with electricity and plasma to become the flesh that had taken it in.

A pulse, heartbeat, and tap of toes. A movement with a smile. It knew and breathed and in the absorption of self, it touched a soul, and became whole.

“Play it again for me, please?”

The guitarist chuckled, and again set pick to metal, birthing chords that split as fingers held down strings and a human heart sang without words.

©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef

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Six Word Stories (10)

I remember going for walks on the beach. In the sun. In the spray. It was on a beach in the Netherlands where he asked. I said yes.

It was February. His lips were blue. The sand stuck to his bluejeans as proof he had kneeled when he asked.

The wind was blowing, and his nose was dripping from the cold. He was beautiful, just like the beach at six AM.

Sometimes love hurts. If you’re separated, it hurts. If you’re isolated together, the constant rub of a partner’s shoulder can hurt. Transforming for the sake of love hurts. But for us, it’s been worth it.

We all go through the slow transformation of life. I choose to go through it for, and with you.

©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef

Photo’s sources from unsplash and pixabay.

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Oneness All Our Own

Warmth of oneness all our own,
a wealth neither has ever known.

Together in a permanent
state under the firmament.

A oneness more than touch alone.
A choice made as love we hone.

Cultivate sustainable,
believing it attainable.

Our oneness growing, building, on,
as closer, we are being drawn.

Uniquely us, yet made to fit
together as our lives are knit.

As with knots, it’s never straight.
Oneness is our guarding gate.

No other two could ever be
quite like this oneness of you and me.

©Mary Grace van der Kroef 2020

Whispers of Always

In the quiet of the night
A whisper that brings light
Not light to show a room
But lighten loneliness and gloom

Now blackness doesn’t press
Instead, it’s a caress
A weighted blankets hold
Within a safety fold

A single word of care
Reveals that you are there
Now eyes can close in sleep
No longer will they weep

With a single touch
You have said so much
In a simple phrase
I hear our always blaze

©Mary Grace van der Kroef 2020