The Most Important Letter I Ever Wrote 0
there were two letters. Not one.
Two most Important letters I Ever wrote.
Both Love letters,
written with only two years between them,
written to two different men.
Both of whom have my Heart.
The first most important letter I ever wrote
was written to my loving Father,
a Love letter
written to him a little more than a year before I lost him.
Gifted it to him in Life
and then the letter returned to my possession,after his death.
And the second most important letter I ever wrote,
a Love letter
written to a Man I loved only second to my Father;
the most sturdy and penetrating man I ever came to know.
And once, my lover.
I wrote the second most important letter I ever wrote
less than a year after I had made
that fateful decision.
The decision to leave him;
owing that choice, partly to my own punishing insufficiencies
and derelict judgement.
An avowed and telling letter which has yet to reach him.
Each letter, tailored most delicately.
Each letter written quietly and promisingly
by a somber lite; between the hours of sunset
In life, I will never see either of these Men again;
one for his death
and the other for
The most important letters I ever wrote
both Love letters
now sitting, each enclosed, back-to-back on a corner table in my home -
next to burnt candle ash, one small flashlight, a memento from my father, one painted rock, a framed picture of Jesus,
a small wooden box of unaccepted apologies
and one silly, flat, plastic toy insect worm.
- Catherine Schmid Murphy
The Precious Wound 0
Written 2016 by kckerrie
That Precious Wound.
Do You Remember When...?
Do you Remember When—after 9-11 when ... as a nation, we stood Tall and Proud?
Our pride swelled High
as the Twin Towers themselves.
Do you Remember When we were unapologetically displaying our American flags and in every possible place imaginable?
With swollen chests we Flew our flags in our yards, through our car windows and stuck them on our bumpers.
Remember When we placed flags in our living room windows and on our front doors?
We dressed our children in “I Love America” T-shirts.
Our greeting cards and our playing cards patriotically displayed our pride.
When business owners would showoff their homemade pride in their store front windows…
Or a simple patriotic ceramic candy bowl would sit at the check-in window at your doctor’s office.
The pen they offered us at the bank was red, white and blue.
The grocery store display, was created with Patriotic forethought.
And if you didn’t already own anything with ‘The Red, White and Blue’ on it you felt a sense of regret…and you went right out and bought something.
A blanket for the bed, maybe. A poster, a coffee mug. It didn’t really matter what.
Remember when pick-up truck owners would fasten an Enormous American Flag on the back and then drive down MAIN STREET USA, solely for the purpose of attracting turning heads, waving hands, beeping cars and Unity.
Flags would hang down over highway overpasses and we would have almost a moment of silence until we drove underneath them.
When as a terrorized and frightened nation… our Precious Wound was Shared!
When the accusation of bigotry wasn’t connected to ones Love of Country.
There was a sense of Unity. A palpable one. Compelling.
You would almost swear you could touch it.
Pride flowed through our veins with a Warm rush.
It was a shared wound, a wound that we each claimed, individually and jointly.
A wound - and a heartbreak, So Precious.
In the uniqueness of it all… there was a CONSCIOUSNESS of something Extraordinary.
And IN that consciousness, it made each of us Better.
There was a camaraderie on the street.
Discussions with strangers.
Old friends got in touch.
People went back to church.
We held doors for each other.
We said please and thank you.
Do You Remember that Precious Wound?
That wound made me a better Human being and an unapologetic, Stand-Up, Come and Get it, BadAss American.
God help us all, if we EVER FORGET that precious, precious Wound.
- Catherine Schmid Murphy
Lamp Post Poetry by kckerrie 8-16-2020 0
someday, i hope
to see him again.
and to cross
the great divide
by land -
and by heart.
for Most truly-
i did Love him.
i do not possess
to articulate the depth
or the measure of.
so i die to self, a
each day, knowing
copyright kckerrie 2020