I called you, yesterday. I laughed. You laughed at me. I danced, made plans for coffee, hung up the phone and sat numb. Last night, you murdered me in my sleep. I read, this morning, a woman who wept over the one she could no longer call. I wept for not missing your eyes that change shapes in my dreams night on night. You undid me, yesterday. I doubt I heard what you never say so eloquently. I’m too used by you and the night to miss your comfort or delight. You broke up my place to land. Daddy's voice guides me home. He holds my tears as treasure; He spins my voice into a robe He wears; He dances over me— His pleasure. I think of you, today. I hold your tears as my own. I pray for a gentle tone, to spin my words into a robe you wear while He dances over you— His pleasure. “I delight greatly in the LORD; my soul rejoices in my God. For he has clothed me with garments of salvation and arrayed me in a robe of his righteousness…” Isaiah 61:10
Hi, I'm Laurel. I live on five acres in the foothills of the Cascades where I'm daily restored by God's creation in the midst of chronic fatigue and fibromyalgia. After studying the arts in London, I taught at the University of Washington while earning my Masters of Arts in the performance of literature. I am the retired founder of Over the Moon Storytelling. My published article won second prize in the nationally renowned Amy Foundation writing contest.