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Worried about My Heart

I am worried about my heart
I worry about my heart.
Not the ticking,
The ticking,
The tick, tick, ticking
But the breaking,
The breaking,
The break, break, breaking
Like glass
Cracking

It stays out there,
I hold it in my hand...
You? Do you? Do you want it?
I ask?
How about you? Do you? Do you want it?
I ask again.

I worry about my heart.

Easter Evening

Wet new leaves hanging in the lamps light
Shining white
Like icicles from yester-season.
Dogwood bloom in the foreground
Remind me its not winter
Any more.
The tip tap of the Spring rain on the window,

Its past...it says.
Its over...it rephrases.
Its gone...it relays.
The new has begun.

I feel like I’m cheating,

I feel like I’m cheating,

when I, 

use 

my granddaughter’s favorite bowl. 

I can hear her saying,

"That’s mine, Greema!"

Though she’s miles and miles away. 

I smile, and

Use it

gleefully, secretly pleased,

because,

It’s my favorite bowl,

as well.