Pick up the pen. Write my song. Feel. Free.
You told me sometimes the water came up high
and covered the marshes
Completely? I asked
It would have been beautiful, I know
to watch the way the tides and seasons
washed away
the harder parts - soft. marshes.
Is there a piece we could still stand on
Maybe somewhere near the edge
where nameless birds would come to be remembered
They might say as we look out at the orange sky
Oh, where
where
have you been
- Erin Frankel
Thomas Dewing After Sunset - 1892
They ask me why I write.
Give me a paintbrush and you will see why.
What I wouldn’t give to blend those yellows and greens.
The blues, the peach, the rose you long to see.
To make a sky unfold.
To add mist. Blur the line.
To pull from long dark hallways, even one just passing by
What world is this
I would put a bench right before my painting.
Just close enough so you could dip in your toes and feel the tickle of grass
your high heels sinking into the wet Earth
You could come all the way in if you wanted.
Throw off your shoes. Exhale. Swirl around and around and around.
What I wouldn’t give to find the right color. A stroke for that sound.
But in this life, my words will have to do.
You should have seen it.
The sky was a pale yellow, mixed with a minty longing green.
And there were these little splashes of warm light.
Fireflies perhaps, but no, the sun was still setting.
And why not? There at the center of everything
a heart the shape of a leaf.
Raindrops rising and falling with each tender beat.
You say those are pine trees. But you could have missed something.
It could happen.
Anything can.
- Erin Frankel
I walk through these woods
but really I am running.
My heart is three trees ahead
around the bend
Where morning light slips into you and becomes a sound.
Where a moss covered trunk awaits me.
Where time slows down.
When I leave, you follow me.
Slow and steady current
but running too.
Just around the bend
three trees ahead
Where someone else might notice you.
Doesn’t everything long to be found?
- Erin Frankel
In the stillness of the morning,
before the wheels start spinning - inside and out
the cool sea breeze
The gaviota stretches its white silver wings
How far it soars
How many flaps until the wind takes over?
Is there a magic number
of tiring strokes before it can glide
carried away into the folds - the blues - of the tender sky
I will say this because it happened to me.
One must claim the right
to fly.
- Erin Frankel
Sometimes I think you will just come
blowing through the wind
around the bend
in the ripple of the water
brushing over lily pads
lapping at my feet.
Or the birds will bring you
Sometimes chirpy and sweet
Sometimes deep and moving
A plea.
Pick up the pen
Write my song
Feel.
Free.
There are a thousand tiny leaves
waving gently in the breeze
Sometimes I think
they are waving
at me.
- Erin Frankel
I am not going to go
from this place
Get carried away like the wind
and leave you
I will stay and notice
how you sit alone on your branch
how your wings gleam grey
how your purples find their way
just when the light hits right
for me to see
I am not going to go
from this place
Get carried away like the wind
and leave you
I will stay and notice
how the warm breeze brings ripples
cold springs across my face
How I can swim in the air
- Erin Frankel
If I talk about the cold cherries.
The ones we dipped in the stream.
The ones that melted in our mouths.
That took us away. For a moment.
There. By the place where one day little girls would find sticks
and roll up their pants
and wade in the places where the ice-cold trickle dared them to resist.
The slippery river rocks just enough space for tiny toes to recover
before going back in.
If I talk about the hot boulder where I sat and watched it all.
Where I heard the birds
And felt the sun reach my heart.
Where I felt. Alive.
Where I decided THIS. THIS.
If I talk about the cold cherries, the river rises
Carries me downstream.
Searching for what used to be.
Longings of the soul.
If I don’t talk,
the river rises
Swallows me up.
Whole.
They melted in our mouths.
And took us away.
For a moment.
- Erin Frankel
I listen.
I told you to come back in the songs of the birds
I wonder.
How long has your song
been trying to be heard
I came back to you LOUD.
But you wouldn't have it.
You were soft. As ever.
Steady.
Flowing.
Knowing.
While I was gone you stayed the same
I pictured you this way
when the noise became too much.
watched the birds glide over you
the cliffs look down on you
the trees frame you
I put myself here
when I am there. Somewhere LOUD.
I call you back. Or you call me.
I woke up early for you today
didn't make you wait
And you came back to me soft. As ever
- Erin Frankel
Sometimes I think I’ll miss it.
The swirl of the clouds
Just the way the light breaks through
At just the right moment
And snap. It is gone.
I meant to notice it. Longer.
To turn my head up toward the sun
And close my eyes to feel what I see
Maybe it was only that second
That offered that moment
Sometimes I think I’ve missed it
Some time
Some thing
Meant for only me.
- Erin Frankel
If you are sitting alone, I see you.
I watched you staring at the rain coming down
Wanted to tell you 'rain is really coming down'
But you already knew that.
I kept my eye on you
Wondered
What you were heading home to
You were someplace distant
And your sadness
Found a home in me
For that moment
When I watched you watching the rain
Falling
And I wondered
How long it had been
Without her
- Erin Frankel
I know we still have time
but I wanted to tell you
I love you.
We see things together, don’t we...
How we can be together on our morning walk
Yet still be alone
Each honoring the other’s exploration
Then coming back to where the paths cross
That time when I sat. Still.
And wondered where you were
That time when I found you
Right behind me
Sitting. Still.
You made me feel like I was teaching you
But I know the truth
I know we still have time
But I wanted to tell you
I love you.
I wanted to tell you
I love you.
- Erin Frankel
