4.27.22 Permission Requested

3

When you were little,

I could have sworn that I always knew what to do 

to make you feel better

(almost always)

Now

sometimes,

I feel like I can’t even guarantee that I won’t make you feel worse

And it leads me to question if I ever really had it all figured out

or, 

more

likely,

if I was fooling myself all along,

the Queen of Misplaced Confidence.

Regardless

I wanted so much for it to be true –

for us to be closer than close

always

But maybe that was wrong too . . . 

maybe freedom was the point all along.

I’m not good at it,

it would seem.

I apologize.

I’m not a fan of realizing that what you might need 

is   s  p  a  c  e 

instead of a hug

or quiet

instead of conversation.

So here it is – the dreaded truth . . . 

don’t

know 

what

I’m 

doing.

But I love you the same.

More, in fact –

and I guess I’m asking your permission for that to be okay.

4.13.22 Even If

0

Everyone keeps telling me how big you are

how old you look

how grown up …

And I know they’re right

I do.

But sometimes it’s inconvenient for a heart to acknowledge truth

because it hurts.

I see the things you’re expected to learn

and I hear what you already know,

but then there is this moment between us …

just a moment,

where your eyes tell me you wish you didn’t have to,

and mine apologize for the world’s introductions

though apologies aren’t enough.

You know my tangled heart.

You know my too-loud mind.

You know I’d do anything to give you more

of less expectation

But precious,

that is not the way of time,

or of truth.

I cannot fix it.

I cannot change it.

Nevertheless,

I will love you through it –

Your imagination is a powerful reprieve,

so use it.

And I’ll do the same every time someone tells me how big you are,

or how old you look …

how grown up.

They’re right,

but if you need a place to be young again,

I’m ready to play pretend.

I’m here to hold your hand through it all –

even if mine is now the small one.

3.12.22 Invitation

0

Come gently darling

and let me fold you into safety

Piece by piece,

let’s take off all of your armor,

that which you’ve picked up and fortified yourself with …

every time you had to be strong for someone else

There may be a time for you to pick it up again

but for now

just lean in

and hold on

as you let go

2.22.22 Tracing Lines

0

Some sights ache for the beauty they hold

for the unearthly swell of spirit – of heart

they inspire

In moments such as these

when your pulse quickens

and your breathing stills

you recognize the magic that exists

e v e r y w h e r e

if only we take the time to feel it

This is the wonder that traces the line between heaven and earth

between divinity and reality

Tiptoe across the threshold of majesty

Taste test the possibility that you were meant for other

Trust that the beauty beheld did not find you on accident,

but on mission

What will you do with this sight?

With this light?

How will you make your next breath count longer?

Swell and expand with ripening hope …

that the world you knew is only starting to awaken,

that the life you once recognized is beginning anew

1.25.22 Ever. Busy. Mind.

1

My mind

is a busy place

where quiet can only be found

if it’s noisy enough around me

to lessen the hum

the whir

the “listen to me, I have something to say”

thoughts

that never

still

Connections and interruptions

like radio frequencies frequently

on repeat

hiccuping fears

or prayers

or memories

or some combination of each

It is bright

and curious

a wandering, wondering culmination of

what-to-do-next

and

wish-I-had-time-to ideas

fragmented like mismatched quilt squares

ready to be somehow someday stitched together in a way that makes sense

in a way that tells a “less” disjointed story

Until then, I suppose my thoughts

noisy as they are will keep me company

in my chaos-meets-creativity

daydream-meets-divinity

Ever. Busy. Mind.

1/10/22 Does She Know?

0

This poem is for all of the women in my life who make it a little easier to breathe … to laugh … to cry … to be myself. If you’re wondering if you are one of the exquisite souls who inspired it – you are.

Does she know?

 . . .

She is a wonder

an apothecary of magic

weaving words that draw

and settle

and heal 

places of your spirit 

you didn’t even know were raw

until her brilliant stardust of diction

falls into the cracks

mixing with molten hope until 

you become, once more,

a priceless paragon 

liquid gold filling you … 

making you stronger than you ever were

before you realized you were broken

She is not afraid of scars

but welcomes them in … 

tracing their storylines –

drawing silver strands forth 

crisscrossing beautiful strings of prose 

until all that remains 

is a dreamcatcher of renewed wishes

She is a wonder

the embodiment of all that is good

and worthy

and precious

breathing life into lost dreams

and lost dreamers alike

She is a wonder

a curator of fragile memories

a keeper of secrets too heavy to hold alone

a kindred confidant 

a borrowed gift of heaven 

. . . 

Does she know? 

11.2.21 Wander Home

2

Every so often,

but never often enough

I let my mind wander –

and where, and when

it goes here, and there

I wonder if my riddled, tangled thoughts

might someday collide

in a flash of brilliance

in a cataclysm of darkness

in a lazy, hazy in-between.

Every so often,

but never often enough

I let my mind wander –

and like nimble fingers sifting through a catalog of thoughts

I allow the well-worn edged memories to surface first

deserving,

once again,

my time?

Attention?

Intention?

Just like that, my thoughts are re-rooted

Do we always return home?

Do even the subconscious, ethereal parts of ourselves seek the familiar?

The comfortable?

Every so often,

but never often enough

I let my mind wander –

and I wonder … if I might see you again then,

and there,

just like I always do – 

just like home

10.10.21 Sometimes, I Miss You

6

“Every time I look at you, you’re different.”

– Mrs. Foster, Tuck Everlasting

Sometimes

even when you’re right before me

even when I can see your smile, and all your attention is directly on me

I miss you

Even then –

because I don’t only know you and love you now

but then too

and I miss you then

and there

In the places between wishes and daydreams,

when your tiny fingers would catch my pinky and hold tight

I miss your un-prompted giggles and the way your hiccups frustrated you

I miss your mis-pronunciations and sidewalk-chalk smudges

I miss your “Let’s race,” and “So big,” and “I love you more,” words

spoken in a voice that is the same

and yet so different

I love you now

more than I ever have,

but less than I will even tomorrow

YOU

in your cleverness

in your silliness

in your wisdom

and beauty

and intelligence

YOU in your everything that makes me proud

I am grateful for every freckle earned dancing in the sunshine with you …

every smile fought for and given freely …

every fall-asleep hug, every on and off-key song, every rhyme and reasonless adventure

But even after all of that

even in all you will still become … and all I hope to still be for you –

Is it okay to be honest and say

that sometimes,

I love you so much …

that I miss you?

9.30.21 Where Colors Burn

4

“And what once felt so predictable –
a canopy of breeze-tossed green
is now an explosion of brilliance …
colors that burn just to look at …”

If Fall were a woman, in the words of the eminent Jane Austen, “She would certainly be a fearsome thing to behold.” Imagine all of that brilliance … all of that passion … burning in one spirit, lighting up the world as quick as a spark and as memorable as the impression of fireworks’ afterglow. How I hope to hold a fraction of that light – that vivacity.

Bella Grace Issue 29 is filled to the brim with all things captivating. I was excited to see a throwback piece from Grace Notes of mine, “Fall is Made for Reinvention.” Please take some time this fall to listen slowly, love deeply, and soak in all the places where colors burn.

Wind chimes and wishes,

Elle Harris

9.19.21 You Will Rise

1

” … If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
    Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
    And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools …”

– Rudyard Kipling, “If”

This week, a precious friend confided the difficult reality that sometimes, life hurts. Right now – her pain is acute. And although no one goes through this existence completely unscathed, there are times that will shake you to the point of an internal tremble. I’ve been thinking about her all week. Praying for her. And while I hate that I cannot fix it, I want her to know … I want you all to know, that Hope is an ever-present promise, even when all else fails. I wish I could take away the trials, but for the time being, all I have to offer is a small collection of words I gathered in the midst of this trial. May they bring you back to a point of knowing this is not the end of the world’s story … or of yours.

Life isn’t always what it seems

what you thought it was,

would, or even should be

Sometimes, when the clouds come

they stay

stagnant and unforgiving

relentless and roiling

In the dark, the questions come

doubts intermingling with leftover pieces of dreams …

as though everything you thought you knew to be true

is backwards, a broken, mirrored reflection of what it once was

sharp shards revealing every tear

Even then … in the moments where Destiny feels defective

and reality is rent with defeat,

even then there is light

Fractured bits of faith remain as glittered dust among the debris

incapable of being gathered and disposed of fully

Just as embers might once again be fanned into flame

Credence is worthy of reflection

And while chaos is deafening –

Hope speaks in constant whispers beneath it all …

a steady undercurrent, present below the pain

What is anguish but an inverse reaction to love?

What is devastation if not proof that devotion was present?

So be angry dear heart,

there is room in this space to be angry.

Be sad if you must,

there is room in this space to be sad.

Ask questions, have doubts, be aware of the darkness …

because I know,

even if you don’t –

even if you can’t –

that you are made of stardust and promises …

and your heart is branded with infallible truths

This life has no claim over that which is eternal

You may be shaken but you are not shattered

You might well have fallen, only to prove

once again

you will rise