I am not sure why I never asked you
The simple things
The things I knew that pained you
But defined who I am
I am not sure why I never asked you
About the snippets you
Momentarily shared
But then moved from
So quickly
As they seared your soul
And scarred your heart.
I am not sure why I never asked you
Of your saddest time
Your hungry life
The child longing for a war to end
We never spoke of the painful times
But the shadows lurked
On the edges of our conversations
And my consciousness.
I know why I never asked
The things I should have spoken
The stories are in my cells
Blood of my blood.

© Tanya Southey @ Ordinary Poetry

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Choosing a word to capture
meaning
Sifting through pebbles,
panning for golden words
that will describe the incredulity
of the inexplicable mystery of you.
Running the water
over the wooden pan and sieve
and allowing
the little rock words to settle.
Tossing out the stones of words,
like ‘ordinary’, that do not fit.
‘Celestial’ has gem potential –
set it aside in the pile
of exquisite possibilities.

Run the cool, clear water
over the tiny speckled rocks
of emotion and be vigilant
with compassionate eyes for
the one in a million word
that will hold the
essence – perhaps –
‘Mystical’, ‘reverent’, ‘transcendent’
‘consummate’, ‘gracious’,
‘deep’,
and ‘buttercup’, definitely
‘buttercup’.

© Tanya Southey @ Ordinary Poetry

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