pictured words

MY HUSBAND

It was a grave reaction
to I.V. antibiotic.
The medical staff had
moments to respond and stabilize
as his numbers instantly plummeted:
blood pressure
heart rate
oxygen level

I did all I could do:
feverishly fan
and fervently pray.

A while after he was stabilized
and we were alone,
he asked me,
“Was I singing?”

Singing??
I wasn’t sure if he was yet “all there.”
Then he explained.

I saw the numbers. I felt like I was leaving.
Then I found myself somewhere else.
Somewhere black.
Not scary pitch black.
Soft black.

I wasn’t touching the ground.
Yet I wasn’t being held up by anything I could feel.
Simply suspended.

I heard singing.
“Praise God from whom all blessings flow.”
The Doxology.
I sang with them, belting it out
with all my heart.
Strongly. Clearly.
Beautifully.
Not my usual muffled-mushy voice.

And I felt peace.
Utter peace
like I have never felt before.

And I knew that if this is all there is,
I’m okay with that.
Much more than okay.

He also described being unaware
of how much time he spent “there.”
It could have been moments.
It could have been hours.
Time was meaningless.

It seemed to me
he was astonishingly
neither fully here
nor fully there,
yet fully present
in both.

(in response to “veil” prompt)

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September 13, 2026

A STROLL

Photo of the Maumee autumn sky by Keith R. Good

A Stroll

My favorite time of year.
The cool air and nearly setting sun
beg my attention.
It feels good to need a hoodie and jeans.
The sound of leaves crunching beneath my feet
makes me smile.

In the distance,
drum cadence announces that tonight
we have a home high school football game.
This sound has been part of my life
since childhood.
The sound of my dad’s heartbeat, it seems.
Nostalgia of the best kind, though through misted eyes.

The deep blue sky I refer to as autumn blue
is interspersed with puffy white and charcoal.
This combination delights me.

I spot an elderly gentleman in a neighbor’s yard.
Perhaps he is related to my neighbor, but
I don’t recognize him

until I do.
He waves. I wave back, pretending
I knew him all along. Pretending
I didn’t notice the new elderly gait.
The hunch.

My attention turns to the shadow
accompanying me as I stroll.
And I again pretend not to notice
the new elderly gait.
The hunch.

The earth’s tilt this time of year makes
the sunlight strike at a lower angle.
My eyes gaze
at the elongated tree branch shadows

before lifting to the sky in time
to catch deep purple and orange
fade to pink and lavender.
I feel my eyes smiling
my heart calming
and the call to return home.

As I approach the house,
Mom and Dad’s antique
Tiffany-style lamp
brightens the window
and casts a glow
on the blooming hydrangea tree
we call Patricia, after my mom.
Contentment washes over me.

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August 25, 2026

Dolly (January 19, 1946 – August 25, 2026)

August 25, 2026

Stars sparkling over
the pink empire state building
are plus-one, tonight.

#seventeenintwentysix
#dolly
#thislittlelightofmine

My little 17 syllables can’t do justice to this treasure we have lost. Here are some quotes (not even a drop in the bucket) that particularly touched me, in reaction to today’s news:

“The world has lost its most persistent light.” ~ Susie

“A national treasure. One of my favorite things about her was that she wasn’t a billionaire because she gave so much for others” ~ Amanda

“Literally my office stopped and we all cried.” ~ Mersadise

“So she’s not gonna write any more books?” ~ little Charlie, when he heard of Dolly’s passing
“No, but I’m sure she set it up so kids can keep getting books each month.” ~ Charlie’s mom, Sally

“The earth’s axis just tipped.” ~ Brenda

“You will be lovingly remembered for generations.” ~ Jim

“Somehow, I thought she would always be with us.” ~ Letitia

“Thank you for shining your glittering light of goodness onto me and the whole world!” ~ Libby

“We will always love you.” ~ likely millions

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August 23, 2026

Come Fly with Me

from www.flickr.com

Come Fly with Me

Let’s catch us a flight
to a village in Wales
named Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch.
We’ll see all the sites,
and return with tall tales
of Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch.

I’d say let’s write verse,
but I doubt there’s a rhyme
for Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch.
So as we traverse,
let’s be poets in mime
in Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch.

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August 16, 2026

Things I Can Do For Me

Things I Can Do for Me

Teach ESL to awe-inspiring refugee and immigrant women
Hold memories close
Invest in others
Notice loveliness around me
Granddaughter time!
Spend time with those I love

Intercessory prayer

Compose well-written poems and poorly written poems
Appreciate all I can do … and all I can’t, but others can
Nod and smile to you, whoever you are

Delight in little things
Offer God my humble thanksgiving

Frame my day with time with Jesus
Open windows to smell spring’s viburnum and lilac
Roll with it

Music (listen myself, and sing when nobody listens)
ESL volunteer teacher time bookends this acrostic

not the end

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August 9, 2026

Wait, What?

Wait, What?

I should be content
with my cozy home, but I
really want a porch.

You know: a front porch
that welcomes old and new friends
and has a porch swing.

Maybe wrap-around,
with pretty haint blue ceiling,
and tongue-and-groove floor.

‘Musts’ are ceiling fans,
some colorful hanging plants,
and two rocking chairs.

If I could, I would
build it myself. Believe me –
if I wood, I could.

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August 2, 2026

Untitled Haibun

“A very little key will open a very heavy door.” ~ Charles Dickens

Not all journeys entail physically moving via mode of travel. Not all baggage is luggage. Not all in our possession belongs to us. Not all we carry on our shoulders is ours to carry. Not all we push against, even with all our might, will budge. Not all we move toward is best for us.

Let loose your baggage.
When the key opens the door,
you know you are home.

© Marie Elena Good 2026

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July 5, 2026

In the Cool of the Day

Pexels.com

In the Cool of the Day

When God created Adam from the dust of the earth, He breathed His own life into him. Adam had as near a perfect relationship with God as we could possibly fathom. They walked together in the garden in the cool of the day. They talked. God allowed Adam to name every animal He had created. The Bible doesn’t go into much detail about their daily communion with each other, but it leaves no doubt they had an intimate relationship. Adam had God in face-to-face, real connection. What an amazing thing to ponder. We know God has a sense of humor, and that He made Adam in His own imagine. I love to imagine them making each other laugh to near tears on the regular! I love to imagine Adam picking God’s brain when it came to caring for His creation. How amazing would it be to have been able to have a documentary of, say, a week in the life. Oh to have that face-to-face, closest of relationships with our very God! And yet, God saw that Adam experienced a nagging and substantial loneliness that he couldn’t shake. Did God reprimand him with, “Adam! Quit your whining, oh ye of little faith! I am all you need!” No. He understood and His heart was touched by Adam’s need. He made a companion and “suitable helper” for Adam. And then God communed with both of them.

God values our needs.
And in fact, to come to Him,
need is all we need.

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June 15, 2026

Hospital Room 314

Photo by RDNE Stock project on Pexels.com

Hospital Room 314

Clanks outside his room
would inspire the old Gandy Dancers’
calls and responses.

When no one is in the room,
the motion-activated towel dispenser

dispenses.

He says when he sits on the toilet,
the woodgrain in the door
resembles a nearly life-size man
sitting on the toilet
watching him sit on the toilet.

checking poking prodding in and out of the room in and out of his veins trying to get him from point A to the much-needed point B

Rest doesn’t come easily.

That tracks.

© Marie Elena Good 2026

This is in response to our Poetic Blooming’s prompt #598: Write an on track poem. It is also about my husband, who was admitted for an acute attack of pancreatitis.

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June 10, 2026

the wisdom of flowers

Photo by Andru00e9a Devillier on Pexels.com

Lovely and cheerful
seeks cracks in the hard, and blooms.
So can we. Let’s bloom.

(c) Marie Elena Good 2026

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