Barbara Swander Miller
Honoring the journey in everyday life
Category: Poetry
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Why are you pounding at my door again? I answered once, accepted your offer, and sent you away, satisfied that you wouldn’t return. But here you are again. This time pounding at my heart louder, more insistent. I don’t want to answer. I’ve hidden from your face too long. Go away! Leave me with my…
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Heavy, heavy heart shoving me downward, pushing me into cold darkness, alone. I am trapped, confined, pinned under a weight I can never lift. The bitter knowledge engulfs, seeps into my broken spirit, forces surrender. My eyes spill their tears, my lips both quiver. I cannot stop. I grieve for your loss … and for…
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Oh, wind, I hear you rustle the reddening leaves outside the open doorway. Breathe your resurrection into my aching heart that pines for solace; your peace into my unsettled soul.
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By Barbara Swander Miller I can’t sleep. I turn, wriggle, twist and sigh. Too much news coverage I suppose. Not that they’re reporting anything new, really. Why can’t I just ignore it all? The wind whooshes outside our bedroom window. I hear the maple swaying, imagine its wet leaves littering the ground and front walk,…
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Even though I’ve never worn glittery tops with letters that flash my undeniable school pride, and Even though I loathe finding tiny flecks of glitter stuck to my otherwise plain shirt after opening my craft closet, and Even though I’ve been stuck in the filthy mire of the news and its portents of doom, haunting …
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Hi, Grammy! How was your day, sweet girl? Medium. Medium? Tell me about it. Well, I didn’t like being hit in the head with thirty-five balls today. What! All the girls were screaming and crying and huddled against the wall. What was going on? The boys were throwing balls … at our heads. Oh! Ohhhhhh,…
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Thirty-some years ago, finally divorced after months of marital and individual counseling and hours of agony trying to understand it all, I was settling in my hometown with three kids and a regular visitation schedule to their dad. Alone, every other weekend, I had nothing to do, except fret and wonder what was happening while…
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Shooting over the deck rail across the lily bed lightning fast straight to the corner where the sage and yarrow bloom, Eliza darts through my space. She’s on the chase! It’s a rabbit! Probably the one that’s been eating my carrots and cutting my flowers. The cunning creature needs no siren. It bounds out of…
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The closest I could come to the muumuu of my aging hippie friend was a Chambray dress hidden on the clearance rack at Walmart. Prefaded, loose and long. As I wriggled my arms inside its buttery fabric and let it fall over my head, it granted me instant permission to be free. Free from importance.…
