Escaping the deliverance of well-meaning friends,

she found her way to the lake,

pearling the edges with the foam of yesterday’s ripple effect.

She sat down to draw her heart

and damn if it didn’t crawl back up her sleeve

into her chest to pound the blackness down.

She couldn’t see. Had gone deaf.

Picked up a stick and began doodling

in the black soil,

found again her soul.


~Andrea Mathews

© 2016




Glowing plankton Doug Perrine

Comes home

Of her own,

Praying at the shore

Flirting with the wind

She opens

On the muscle of a moment.


Rippling across a river,

Whispering  the leaves,

She comes

On the muscle of a wing.


Bluing in renditions of her own

She simply reigns over all

On the muscle sky.

Coming home,

Singing home,

Bringing home home.


Drumming through the rhythm of breath, heart, hope, there is a natural bringing and coming home.  All we need do is surrender to it.

Photo by Doug Perrine, Barcroft Media


Copyright Andrea Mathews, 2014