TWISTED

My heart you’ve twisted

between the dream or a nightmare;

feeling your cheek stubble on the insides of my palms.

Your neck pulse beats under my fingers.

Longing to touch that silver gray beard

in most unusual ways,

pressing my fingers in streaked stranded hair.

A sly grin I can’t look away from;

you’re an addiction on a bar counter.

Sobriety lost in each pupil of your eyes.

Hit me again!

This raging war between us,

the maddening dance of swords in our hands,

whose heart will be pierced first?

Will it be a wound or fatal?

Oh the joy in the stab

thrusting deep intending to disable the other.

Two birds; beaks locked ~

Fighting; hanging onto territory.

I claim that stripped cotton collar,

following blue stripes down deep into the bottle

that stole my sobriety again and again!

You’re drunk with power!

My head spinning; slipping to my knees.

A master swordsman still holds his sword,

the enemy has lost;

while winning the battle giving everything;

regardless the cost~

it’s not the price, cost or prize,

passion wins all ~

touch me “once!”

Rachealgrace Adams……..7/4/11…..(c)……………

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Breath after breath

 You’ve always taken mine

 mingling it with yours

 lust, passion

 rushing through my body

 next to yours

 a golden pen spills

 red ink

 pumping through my heart

 flooding my brain

 night after night

 I’ve held you in my dreams

 touching wetness pressed

 through your pours into mine

 heartbeats entwined

 heaving passions under moonbeams

 you are my lightning

 I your thunder

 we are the storms

 leaving oceans behind

 Rachealgrace Adams…..5/9/11…..(c)…………

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BLEEDING DAISY ~

A rare beauty, yet

someone plucked her petals one by one!

He loves me, he loves me not?

He wants me, he wants me not?

Petals drop; torn tears fall from

a yellowed disk; once the glowing heart.

She’ll not be here another day;

no time for soil to cover her pods.

Seasons change, he may return?

She died that summer.

He’ll never know if ~

She loves me, loved me not?

Rachealgrace Adams……..3/28/11………©………………….

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SHE HAD THAT LOOK!

Alfa, omega, ethereal,

she’s been there ~ done that,

wasn’t anyone’s door matt!

Strutting on stage, long legged tight jeans,

that wet T-shirt look; wide shoulder strap lifting her guitar.

Didn’t matter if she stood or leaned against her stool, legs stretched;

emotion was her spot light.

Music flowed like steam from her body.

She’d eyes that pierced your heart;

long black thick hair; some clung over shoulders

from her essence heated air.

No man could resist her words;

knowing she sang their own denial.

Women transfixed in memories of dreams long past.

She simply had a way of pulling you into her world,

knowing at some point you’d been there too!

Smoke filled bars, chilled beers dripping from tables to floors,

her presence held any room.

Pursed lips sizzled in black passion thoughts

drying in their stale beer!

Rachealgrace Adams…………..2/25/11………..(c)

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RODEO PONY’S CAFÉ

There are those that said I was a might good-lookin cowgirl in my day; now they say she’s still a good lookin woman today!  Although my rodeo ribbon days are past; my pony and I still ride in the desert raising dust out by the old deserted rodeo stands closed down some years passed.  Ain’t nothin out here now cept a few of us stragglers liven in old cabins and shacks we still call home.  It’s not so bad during spring and summer; deserts full of wild flowers; critters out picking on greens.  Old horse and truck paths worn so smooth there a pleasure to ride these days; memories flooding your mind of cowboys driving their trucks full of horses, cattle or other stock for a rodeo a week or so ahead.  It’s a chosen life for a special breed; no complains among us; town being almost fifty five miles away except for the winters.  Most city folk think deserts are hot all year long; never knowing this is the longest time, cold, windy; only tumble weeds for company!  Some of us get together from time to time sharing a few beers or hot coffee telling stories of winner’s, loses and them that was hurt so bad they either died or wished they had.  No one wanted the life of an old rodeo cripple even though someone was always there given them a hand; never letting them feel like it was a “hand out,” for fear someday it might be their own.

This winter for some reason, probably because the weather being particularly harsh I was in what I sometimes referred to as one of my people needing moods.  I got to thinkin of the old Rodeo Pony Café down the road a mile or two where those of us still out here hung out at from time to time; occasional party’s for someone or celebrating what we felt like was some sort of holiday.  Rarely city folk wondered off the rode far enough in to find it; unless they’d been told something special might be scheduled.  “Picker’s” were always a draw, the best guitar music you’d hear anywhere.  Once in a while we’d either a young singer trying to make a name for himself; or the regulars stopped for pickin and singing in gravely voices old favorites, or a request or two.   

I’d an itch I couldn’t scratch tonight; cabin fever I guess.  I decided to get duded up and ride my mare down to the Café.  There was going to be some good “pickin” tonight I’d heard.  No particular reason I guess then others bored like me.  Good excuse for going out in the cold; even if we might be getting a little snow late in the season.  Looking good  I said to myself standing there in front of my old cracked long mirror still leaning against the closet wall in my favorite fringed leather jacket, tightest jean’s I owned and my best boots; even my old rodeo hat tilled to the side (gave me that cocky look!)  Honestly for the life of me this get up just wasn’t me tonight.  I’m guessing I just wanted to feel like a woman wearing a dress!  Stripped down, and pulled out my old dusty truck, a long cotton white dress with lace sleeves.  Had bought it for a barbecue I was going to with some dud I’d wanted to impress (can’t even remember who he was now.)  Damn, are you nuts woman, you’ll freeze your ass off out there tonight in that?  You know you’re mare isn't going to let you saddle her up on a night like this.  You gunna bareback this ride too?  Funny the things “cabin fever” will make you think of doing!  Hell yes, why not, I’ve ridden in worst weather that this freezing my ass off.   Besides my friends know me; been told more than once they never know what to expect when I showed up……heck if I’m going out on a night like this just for what I hope will be good “pickin” I might as well have fun doing it!

By the time I’d ran to my barn I could already feel the cotton sticking to my skin!  Gray Raven (my mare) turned startled in her stall shaking her head tousling her mane.  Opening her stall gate I dragged in a stool, mounting her I grabbed onto her mane turning her head toward the barn door.  With a gentle kick she knew even if it was cold, we were headed out.  Damn what a ride, we didn’t waste any time!  When I headed her down the trail she instinctively knew where we were headed; it being a regular ride.  By the time we rode in most places for horses or trucks were already taken.  Smart friend that she’d always been she squeezed herself in between a couple of “her” friends for warmth.  Sliding down, my dress was clinging to her as well as me.  Opening the Café door is seemed like a blast of heat hit my face; oh god it felt good.  Old Gus came out from behind the bar towel in hand.   Damn Ruby, you’re a sight for sore eyes!  You’re socked to the skin girl, take this towel and get your little ass near that fire.  Dry off and warm up.  I’ll get ya some hot coffee.  Thanks Gus, sounds good.  Even with that towel rubbing my wet hair, I noticed attentive glares.  My dress dried quickly.  I kept running fingers through my hair like a pick loosening dried strings finally shock it out; that was that!  Gus came with my coffee and said your just in time, I got one little right in the middle so the sound amps won’t bounce off your ears; we got some “really good pickers in tonight!”  I could see two “good old boys already on the stage tuning up.  Charlie stopped by; Rudy, what ya been doing during these cold winter days and nights to keep from going crazy?  Oh Charlie, mucking stalls, stacking hay, brushing down my mare and playing solitaire by my stove.  Riding when I can, daydreaming of rodeo days.  Then “he” strolled in the door!

My eyes froze right there!  Tall, possibly fifty or late forties, about six feet tall, lanky body; a handsome face bad weather had been kind too.  Striking long gray hair pulled back braded neatly half way down his back with a matching neatly trimmed beard and stash!  Brown eyes to die for.   Typical cowboy in every way right down to worn polished boots.  Old Levi’s pressed with a crease; leather tooled belt with a rodeo buckle from some past year’s winnings.  Even his jean shirt was pressed; guitar hung on one shoulder, his tired buckskin hat removed as soon as he entered the bar.  Right down the center of the room he strolled toward the stage.  I couldn’t tell if he noticed me when he passed; but I could see that tight butt had sat many a midnight saddle ride.  Right then I wished I’d been all decked out as planned instead of sitting here, hair still damp sitting in a wrinkled old cotton lace dress!

The bottoms of his boots so smoothly worn they hardy made a sound going up the cracked steps to the center stool waiten for him.  He tossed his hat over one of the amp speakers, pulled his stool forward a bit; turned around and half sat, one boot on the floor, the other on the last bar of his stool raising one leg just enough to cross crease his jeans.  The strap of his guitar just dropped as he rolled his instrument around in his arms; bowl in his lap.  Taking a rag from his back pocket he wiped the strings dry.  He didn’t look up till then.  I’d never in all the years I’d spent in this old Café ever heard it go silent before; even the two old “pickers” stopped.  What seemed minutes turned into seconds before this voice started singing in monotone gravel notes.  A true singer in that sense of the word he wasn’t, yet there sat beauty on that center stool as never before.  Here were all the greats all rolled up in one man!  Mural, Tex, Cash, Williams, Willie Nelson with a touch of one of my favorites, Kris Kristofferson!   He knew famous songs and some I’m sure were his own.  Songs of young men gone wrong, lost and found loves.  He held all of us in the strings of his hands. 

The old dance floor had long ago seen it’s day now full of cracks and sand so when old or young couples danced there was a shuffling sound under boots or sandaled feet.  Tonight we heard it all.  Break time he set his guitar against his stool stepping down walking through the crowd toward old Gus.  Got any hot coffee sir?  Yes sir, just making a fresh pot.  I’m headed to the head; I’ll have it brought to ya when you’re back.  He turned passing me on his way; stopped and said ma'am; ya have a special request?  Stunned I said, sir would you mind unbraiding your hair?   I’d like to see it hanging loose!  Yes ma'am; any special song I can do for ya?  Do you know “Jody and the Kid?”  I believe I do.  You sure are might pretty ma’am, I hope ya don’t mind my telling ya, like that white dress too.  If ya get chilly let me know; you’re welcome to warm yourself with my jacket.  Thank you sir, I’ll be sure to remember that.  Joe’s the name ma’am, Joe Brown.   Ruby Blue I sort of stuttered out; Joe, a pleasure to meet you.  I’ll be back Ruby; I’ll have that fresh coffee for ya when you do.  My god, I thought I’d come unglued!  My insides were shaking; I know my face had flushed!  Watching him walk toward the back, memories of dreams long laid to rest suddenly flooded my brain like a flash flood over a dry creek bed!  I’d long ago come to the conclusion (during those years of rodeo rounds) I’d never meet that one cowboy whose very presence would set the dry kilning of wood in my heart a fire. 

Gus walked up with Joe’s fresh coffee handing me the mug; I think Rudy that fellows gotta hankering for you!  I’d go for it if I was you.  Something special about that guy; saw it right off!  So had I!  I’d hadn’t seen Joe come back until he reached for a chair pulling into my table.  Sweet Jesus, was this the same guy?  He’d unbraided his hair as I’d asked; but done more.  He must have used the sink wetting it slightly, damp waves hung down his back and over his shoulders, the ends almost held tiny curls.  Even though the café was dimly lit, his hair almost had angel’s whiteness.  He reached for his coffee mug, his warm hands covering mine.  Why couldn’t I let go of that damn mug?  We sat there, elbows on the table, hands locked around a hot mug just staring at each other.  My god, he was looking at my soul!  I could feel beads of sweat in my hair.  Ruby, you mind if I get a few swigs of this coffee down, throat’s dry; I gotta get back on stage, remember a gal made a special request!  Felt like my hands were glued to that damn mug; somehow I slide them out from under his.   Taking a couple of swallows; his eyes never straying from mine he handed his mug back to me.  Hold this honey in those warms hands of yours while I go do that “request!” 

I wondered if anyone else saw what I did when he got back on stage ~ this was a different man!  Only two small lights overhead lit his spot.  On his stool leaned over for his guitar, getting himself back in position he threw his head back shaking it from side to side like Gray Raven did her mane.  Streaks of gray mixed in white glistened under those lights.  I know right then “I” wasn’t the only woman in that bar in love with what I saw; just hoping “I’d” be the one who’d end up in those arms that night; for that matter, the rest of my life!    â€œThis man” had the total attention of everyone there!  He cleared his throat, tapped the mike softly saying; I’ve a special request from that beautiful gal sitting by the fire in a white dress.  I’d never been known as a shy gal; but now with every eye here looking at “me” I was a basket case of nerves; a body not only warmed by the fire; but filled with a heart burning like seasoned wood.  He woke things I’d let die I thought long ago. I wondered too how I’d comforted myself out here, living alone; just a close friend or two all these years?  What was I going to do with all these feelings now?

The moment he picked the first note of “Jody and The Kid,” singing so gently those lost familiar words never once taking his eyes off me; tears streamed down my face.  The air thin hard to breathe.  I heard every word like they was coming out of some distance fog.  It took both hands on my table to get me up; but I had to leave as soon as he finished.  I was afraid; this powerful feeling of repressed love was strangling me!  The injustice of it all; I’d hoped and dreamed; but never gave myself the right to believe!  Groping my way through the crowd, I found the door and Gray Raven shivering next to a painted gelding instinctively knowing that was Joe’s horse.  Grabbing Gray Raven’s mane I backed her out quickly getting her next to the Café steps.  Jumping on I jerked her mane, dug my feet in her sides, heading her towards home.  Hesitation would be the death of me now; she took off in a full gallop!  We had to be a few minutes out when I could hear hoofs behind me.  I turned and know it was that painted horse and Joe.  By the time we got to my barn, Joe was beside us.  I slid down, patting her behind, she walked toward her stall.  Joe dismounted; his guitar hanging out under his jacket.  I’ll take care of the horses; just tell me where the feed is.  Another mug of coffee would be good about now.  You’ll find it down at the other end of the stalls, there’s a bin of sweet grass there too, mix that in; Gray Raven loves it, I suspect your paint will too.  His name is Patches, Ruby I remember him saying as I headed out the barn door towards the cabin.

Early the next morning, I got up before Joe getting coffee brewing; some eggs, bacon out of the frig and homemade bread warming on the back of my stove.  It was still snowing when I opened the back door smelling the fresh brew, icy snow air; the wind blowing my old flannel gown against my body outlining breasts that had been held, kissed and pressed into Joe’s face and chest last night.  Every inch of our bodies had been kissed, fondled, tasted; steamed in passions I don’t think either of us had experienced before.  Sleep came late, legs entwined; his and my hair twisted in knots, my arms around his neck, my face pressed into his neck.

The fire from the stove crackled same as the floor so I knew when he came from behind.  He stood behind me, bare chested wrapping his arms around me just under my breasts.  I could feel nipples getting hard again and I knew the top button of his jeans was undone too.  Turning in his arms I buried open lips into his, my arms locked around his neck.  Everything just felt natural; like we’d been doing this same thing for years!  Ok baby I said, the fires lit, coffee’s made, hot bread on the back of the stove; how ya want your eggs?  Bacon crisp?  The tables set, sit! 

In all the years I’d lived here this place it never had smelled of love before.  Joe kept pushing his hair back; I laughed when a string of it landed in his runny egg yolks (he’d asked for over-easy.)  There we were just like the night before, elbows on the table, two hot mugs of coffee, just looking at each other.  Ruby, you mind if I stay?  I took a sip of coffee and said I was thinking on it!  I love ya fearlessly Ruby!  I ain’t never in my life loved a woman anywhere near what I feel for you.  I know baby, I feel exactly the same.  I’ve been searching for you all my life; me too!  Would you marry me Ruby?  Smiling I said yes with one condition.  What’s that; doesn’t matter any why.  Yes it does Joe; will you marry “me”?  I asked you first!  No Joe, what I’m trying to say here is “Running with Wolves” once said; some women aren’t meant to be tamed, they need to run free until they find someone just as wild to run with them. Are ya Joe?  Just as wild as me?

He never flinched, sweet Jesus Ruby, I’ve been running all my life looking for you!  From the first time I saw you last night at the Café, I knew and then ya asked me to free my braid; and topping it off you asked me to sing my own personal favorite, “Jody and The Kid!” I knew I’d not only finally met the love of my life, but my perfect match too!  Patches and Gray Raven are our running mates; their just as wild as we are.   Slap some jeans on and I’ll saddle the horses, we’re going this morning into town and find the preacher!  I suspect he’s waiting for us anyway after seeing the fire burning in our eyes last night! 

Rachealgrace Adams……………..2/20/11……………….(c)……………………………       

Tags: CAFE

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FROM WHERE ALL ANSWERS COME ~

Living in faith and prayer, we walk under the wings

 of our Lord learning what faith truly means.

Full of twist and turns; valleys, hills and potholes along the way,

 never a straight path.

We search for answers alone in quiet places; often the quiet so loud

we can’t hear ourselves think!

Don’t leave me in this darkness;

can’t someone hear my cries?

What happened in this struggle to live?

And the Lord answered!

You didn’t choose me, I chose and appointed you that you

should go, bearing fruit; and your fruit shall remain.

John 15:16

Rachealgrace Adams

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                                   SHAHADI ~

Before you left that day promising return

I left you a tasts of lips; that parting kiss!

On silken pillows days linger from dawn till dusk;

you're humble servant waits where

she once sat at her master's feet.

Her heart bleeds with want of you!

Your harem full long before I came;

years have passed; yet it's only I you visit from time to time.

Willingly a humble servant waits longing once more

for a heart she knows bleeds for her as well.

They say my sheik is old now; no longer in need of his harem ~

Secretly they know I'm not forgotten; his longing

for the fair young maiden on silken pillows

who's heart though not so young still bleeds

only for he who bleeds for her as well!

Love only a word; it's the connection it implies

when death comes for either ~ the other will lay on the

old loved silk pillows reminiscing of nights

filled with gentle love

held in silken threads of entwined hearts.

Rachealgrace Adams......12/31/10.....(c)......

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TICKET TO PARADISE

I don’t remember what brought me here; or how long I’ve lived behind this dented dumpster someone discarded between the cracked buildings alley.  Who painted over the red bricks?  Was the door bricked to keep people in or out?  Occasionally splinters of my mind wonder how these two connected buildings had fallen into fragments of decay; like me.   Are they delusions telling me I left a life behind?  Who am I?  Why was I left in this kaleidoscope world?  Didn’t anyone notice or care what happened to me?    Was it I or they that let go of my hand leaving me in this incongruous mind?  

Somehow lost dignity managed to provide a safe haven behind a forgotten dumpster, old newspapers, torn blankets, and bent tin cans left with dried bits of food.  Stars on clear nights my only friends telling me I’m not alone.  Oh God, the days are horrors filled with bared windowed buildings, dirty people whispering in my head, in my face; their everywhere, no escape.  My raggedy cart avoiding them until wheels spin out of control I hit one of “them;” I’m afraid! 

Running, pushing my cart through stale smells of beer, crushing needles under old tennis shoes that don’t match; hiding in the only public restroom on Skid Row Street my only escape.  Pushing the latch bar across the battered door it’s here in the cracked mirror above the rusted sink I can almost see the face that once lived outside of me.  Stained teeth pull off the remnants of fingerless gloves allowing who I’ve become to reach under my shirt, beneath patched sweaters where I’ve hidden the silver disk and my ticket to paradise.
Bungled belongings in my cart; moments of sanity, brush teeth, wash an unrecognizable face, comb knotted hair, change clothes if I’m lucky before the crazy’s unlock the door in my head!  My silver disk carefully wrapped in rags; held to my ear with shivering clean hands I hear music.  I know it I know it; I can’t remember it?  More bottles to sell; more bottles!  Hold on to my ticket, hold on to my ticket; back to Skid Row, Skid Row.  Most of the time I can’t recognize what happened yesterday, confusion permeating my thoughts.  It has to be God holding the key to my ticket to paradise.  When I get to that door I know a little man in uniform will take it!

 Back to street corners, pan handling; buy a clean dress at Mad Maggie’s second hand store.  Please Lord let me hang onto this corner of my organized brain just long enough to get to paradise; only days away now.

 Cart wheels twisting back and forth rushing to Maggie’s second hand shop.  Oh Lord, it’s packed this time of year; deafen my ears from the voices!  Focus on the racks; pick out my dress, I’ve faith in your taste not mine.  The blue one!  Get me out of here Lord; I’ll try it on in the restroom on Skid Row Street.  You picked it out, I know it will fit.  Don’t don’t fold it Miss; no iron no iron!  Take it on a hanger please?  I guess it wasn’t an unusual request, she took my change. You need shoes sweetie?  Can’t afford them, can’t afford them.  She reached down under her counter and said try these on.  Oh no Miss, God picked them out; they’ll fit, I’ve no change no change?  She just smiled putting them in a little brown bag. 

Since that day I bought my ticket to paradise I’ve been Xing off day’s towards the circled date; God gave me a single breathe of sanity to remember, just add an X at day light.   This morning all I saw was the circle circle circle!

Faithfully God holds what sanity I’ve left; just follow his lead; plastic bag, new dress, brown bagged shoes, head down Skid Row Street to the public restroom.  Once there my rags fell to the floor, wash quickly, cold water streaming from a rusty faucet; don’t forget to brush teeth!  An angel stands by my side handing me my new dress from Mad Maggie’s; pretty blue shoes sat beside my bare feet, a brown bag crumpled next to them; a perfect fit.  Looking in the cracked mirror I comb the knots from my hair.  Setting the comb next to the cracked faucet, on the edge of the sink is the white envelope with my ticket to paradise inside.  I have all I need accept for one thing.  Kneeling here on stained dirty tile, pressing clean palms together I bow my head.

  Dear Lord I thank you for this day, this moment of sanity; the horrors of my kaleidoscope world somewhere in my darkness I knew from all bad comes good!  I thank you Lord and ask your forgiveness for all the times my insane mind swore at you.  I knew better Lord, I couldn’t help myself.  But here Lord, here Lord I know you’ve sent your angels to walk me past Skid Row Street; past nasty voices, stale beer smells, needles, poor crumpled bodies hunched over in dark corners.  Today Lord I’ll fear no more, walking up town in angels arms knowing they lead me to a kind person who’ll will take my hand walking with me through the doors of paradise.  Amen………. 

I walked with blind eyes; angels leading me toward a long line in front of a beautiful building.  A knot in my stomach tells me I’d been here before; nothing more.  I can’t understand them walking me past so many people waiting until almost at the door my hand slips into a beautiful lady’s hand.  She wears a golden scarf draped around her neck.  Am I in heaven already?  She looked at me in the strangest way and said, come with us dear; my husband and me.  I turned to tell the angels thank you; they’re gone!    My name is Mary; this man is my husband Joseph.   I wonder for a second why she doesn’t ask mine, forgetting as we move up to the door.  Tightly clutched in my hand I give her, my ticket to paradise as we walk through tall doors where “the little man in uniform” I remembered, takes our tickets.  Oh God, lights lights noise noise!  God must have spoken to her; she squeezed my hand whispering it’s alright dear; Joseph and I are here, you’re safe, just hold my hand.   People people seated in rows and rows; hundreds of lights lights, fear!  As fast as I thought I remembered; I’d forgotten chandeliered ceilings!  Walking down a long aisle we were a few rows back from a rail of decorated wood, side stepping toward the middle of this row.  My angel Mary said, sit here dear, hold my hand, your safe.  She leaned toward Joseph who sat on my other side.  She whispered to me I need to speak to Joseph, don’t be afraid dear; then whispered quickly to him.  Joseph squeezed my hand lightly, rising saying I’ll be right back; your safe here with Mary, there’s nothing to fear.   

Joseph returned when the orchestra behind velvet curtains began their warming up sounds, causing a slight movement in the indentation of velvet folds.  Each instrument’s sound vibration transfixed my mind like fingers pinching colored sprinkles being dropped on tops of iced chocolate cupcakes!  Something so familiar; yet foreign until I heard that one sound!   A bow racing across violin strings ~ Oh God, I’m home!  I must have startled Mary and Joseph when I stood up and loudly proclaimed; “where’s my violin?”  Mary leaned toward Joseph; did you tell Markus?  Yes, everything is ready! 

Lights dimmed, slowly deep red velvet curtains opened.  Markus stood with his back to the audience, his baton poised.  Itzhak sat in his chair violin under his chin; an empty chair sat beside him with a lonely violin leaning against its back; its bow laying across the seat waiting for its mistress’s arrival.

  After Joseph’s discussion with Markus back stage the news of Marsha being in the audience spread like wild fire.  Everyone knew her sudden disappearance last year on Christmas Eve while she and Markus had been finishing up Christmas shopping.  They’d been in a crowd on 5^th Ave when someone had brushed against her; her hand disengaged from his; she suddenly lost in the frenzy of Christmas Eve shoppers, Markus frantically searching in vain.  Everyone knew she was ill; her loss at this time of year unimaginable to him and those who loved her!  Particularly to Itzhak who had agreed to teach her as if she his protégé.  As the premier conductor of this great hall, for months devastated he too was lost; his total concentration only on finding his beloved wife.  Music and Marsha his life, it seemed both had died; he along with them.  His grief inconsolable Itzhak only able to reach him after months while playing.  Only then could Markus close his tearful eyes hearing his beautiful wife masterfully playing her violin next to his friend.  It had been Itzhak who had convinced him to come back to his other love; music in hopes of restoring at least part of Markus’s life.  No one ever gave up hope of finding Marsha even after a year passed.  Markus couldn’t conduct on Christmas as years past; but had consented to New Year’s Eve.   Something he couldn’t explain caused him to agree against his inconsolable grief.  The only way he could justify it was when Itzhak played; somehow his imagination comforted him that if only in spirit; Marsha was there too!  The shock when Joseph told him tonight that Marsha was out “there,” fifth row center sitting between he and Mary managed to hold him upright!  Itzhak noticeably shaking before he sat violin in hand; the orchestra a blur of whispers; Lilli, the lead soprano of the chorus in tears!  In seconds this evenings performance was changed with the hope that memories would at the least partially restore Marsha’s mind enough to recognize anyone there.  Composure among professionals had to be restored quickly; something usually easy, not this night!  Tonight’s performance everyone’s focus was on being a part of healing Marsha mind.   

Markus slowly raised his baton; the orchestra softly started playing “Greensleeves,” Marsha’s favorite melody she often hummed on stage to relax herself before playing. 

Greensleeves Greensleeves!  I know that I know that, the music was humming around in my head!  A strange voice was humming coming from a body I knew had once been me!  Still standing, Mary and Joseph rose on each side holding my sweating palms.  Tears overtook my eyes burning like scalding water not from the rusty faucet on Skid Row Street! 

There were a few of Markus’s and Marsha’s friends scattered though out the hall’s crowd; standing now knowing they were witnessing a miracle; the same stinging tears running down their faces; they found themselves humming too.  Those that didn’t know sat quietly not understanding; yet knowing a miracle of some nature was taking place leaving them in a frozen awe.

Immediately when Greensleeves stopped, like a deep breath, a pause took place.  Markus almost lost control aching to turn to Marsha; yet knew his MUST gather the chorus and bring Lilli into “Going Home!”  Marsha had always without fail cried when she heard this in the old black and white film, “The Snake Pit” they’d catch on TV from time to time.  He felt if anything would bring her back to him, it would be this!  Lilli took a deep breath (tears flooding her eyes) knowing where Marsha stood; stared out in the crowd at her; in her most delicate soprano tones, her lips exposing the words ~ Going home, going home ~ I’m just going home ~ quiet light, some still day ~ It’s not far, just close by ~ through an open door ~ work all done, care laid by ~ Going to fear no more ~

Oh God, oh God I knew this song!  The ring of this kaleidoscope in my head is disintegrating! 

mother’s there expecting me ~ father’s waiting too ~ lots of folk gathered there ~ all the friends I knew ~ all the friends I knew ~ I’m going home!

Oh God, I’m Marsha!  I’m Marsha Thomas, my husband is Markus Thomas.  I know who I am, I know, I know!  Markus; come get me I heard myself say!  Markus turned hearing Marsha’s words his eyes welled up in tears.  Dropping his baton he headed toward the side steps of the stage.   Lilli kept singing ~ nothing’s lost, all’s gain ~ no more fret nor pain ~ no more stumbling on the way ~ no more longing for the day ~ going to roam no more ~

I couldn’t squeeze my way to the end of the aisle fast enough meeting Markus’s arms; people witnessing this miracle backed their seats up allowing us to swallow one another in arms, kisses soaked with tears! 

Lilli kept singing, her voice bleeding out the freeing words; Markus and I locked, arms entwined we stood in the aisle.  We glowed underneath the dimly lit crystal chandelier! 

Nothing’s lost, all’s gain ~ no more fret nor pain ~ no more stumbling on the way ~ no more longing for the day ~ going to roam no more ~ morning star lights the way ~ restless dream all done ~ shadows gone, break of day ~ real life begun ~ there’s no break, there’s no end ~ just a living on ~

We were walking hand in hand down the aisle toward the stage, Itzhak and MY violin!

Wide awake with a smile ~ going on and on ~ going home, going home ~ I’m just going home ~ it’s not far, just close by ~ through an open door ~ I am going home ~ I’m just going home ~ going home, going home ~

On stage, Itzhah and I hugged kissing each cheek.  Setting his violin down he handed me my own; warm in my hands, I picked up my bow and sat down next to my friend.  Markus looked down at me; no words necessary.  Someone handed him his baton.  Just a couple of steps from us to he stepped up on his podium, raised his baton; we played!

I was home, back in PARADISE to stay!  

Rachealgrace Adams……………12/27/10……….(c)

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The Lost Glove ~

Long ago there lay two gloves inside a ladies coat pocket flap.

Inside this deep warm satin pouch, fingers intertwined,

palm against palm; face to face, hidden, were a tiny pair of cloth gloves. Who knew how long keeping each other warm, dreaming, one-day someone would pull them out to see the light of day!

From time to time their tops poked out, always gently pushed back so neither would get lost.  One day this coat was given away, pockets emptied, or so they thought.  Somehow one had gotten stuck!   He was gone!  She alone terrified by the dark.  No idea where he’d gone, her fingers became musty hidden hanging on a strange rack.

He’d fallen in the dirt when the coat was given to the second hand store, till someone stopped, picked him up, tossing him in a drawer with others separated from their loved ones too.  They had no idea each was in the same store, he in the drawer, she on the rack.  From time to time this small coat get tried on, but because of her small size and the missing glove, she’d get hung back on the rack!  Neither glove knew how long, just feeling the dull persistent sadness of being alone.

The day after Christmas an impoverished old woman, with deeply furrowed light blue eyes, white with frost-nip wrinkled skin entered this second hand store. Unkempt hair, a shabby coat full of holes, with rags of clothe wrapped around her hands, knobby arthritic fingers hanging out.  It was easy to see this woman had endured great hardships. Unloved she’d been left on the streets to survive; with only her Savior, she lead her friends there to God!  Long ago she’d lost the thought of how she’d ended up there.  She’d accepted her place as the “Street Angel for God!”  She always knew in her great hours of need, he’d provide for her.  Her job, to save others for him!

She obviously needed a coat and gloves too!  Crookbacked and small, she was having trouble reaching up the racks.   A young girl behind the register came offering help.  Oh, thank you, “she said,” shivering from cold.  That one, “the black one,” please she said.  The girl lifted it from the rack, watching the old woman’s face light with warmth from the simple touch of it.  She helped her put it on, a perfect fit!  Standing there in front of a mirror, suddenly she didn’t look so cold and worn.  She turned as if seeing her youth in that mirror.  Putting her hands inside the pockets, it was then she realized there was “one glove!”  Oh, she cried, I need the mate!

The young girl taken by this old woman thought, there but for the grace of God could stand mother, my grandmother or I!  Overcome with sadness she had the sudden urge to offer any kind of help.  Somehow she knew this person worked for God.

So she told the old woman to hold onto the coat, she’d take the glove and check the “glove drawer.”  After tossing a few a side, she’d found the mate.   Here, “she said,” we’ve got a pair!  The old woman came forward, coat in hand.  Let me help you put the coat back on, you see if the gloves fit, the girl said.  There she stood, in a warm used coat with gloves perfectly worn to fit over knobby arthritic fingertips. 

Both stood for a silent moment, each knowing the going price was too high.  Without a thought, the young girl (remembering what she’d thought earlier) said, “please take these as a late Christmas gift.”  Tears welled up in both their eyes; neither spoke a word.  The old woman seemed not as crookbacked and small when she left that store.

Outside in the cold she clasped her glove-covered hands together entwining her fingers while rubbing her palms for warmth.  Little did she know, not only was she “The Angel of the Streets,” she’d brought two lovers back together again.  When the gloves touched, palm-to-palm, fingers once more entwined; their wish answered too, to see the light of day; “all three” felt loved and warm again. 

Rachealgrace Adams…………….1/13/10…………..©……………………………… 

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