1.
The Color of Redemption
I can’t bear to think
of His beautiful dark skin
ripped down to muscle.
2.
Lapis Lazuli
More precious than gold,
this deep blue embodies the
Mother of Jesus.
3.
Holy Reflection
Only light as pure
as reflects from God’s own Son
can mirror His love.
© Marie Elena Good 2026
silver splatters on
dark construction-paper hair
of pulled ribbon curls
with eraser-rubbed
quarter-sized patch of almond
alopecia
now-sparce arches frame
uneven eyes colored with
loosely held crayon
trying to capture
the green for which there is no
Crayola pigment
but a fine black pen
and a steady hand capture
right-eye’s lopsided
cat-pupil-like shape:
a visual reminder
of eye surgery
thinner, aging lips
colored deep red. tempted to
draw outside the lines,
but she won’t bother
because a genuine smile
makes up for the lack
Sfumato technique?
No. Since this is her portrait,
she faces herself.
© Marie Elena Good 2026
(Sfumato is a technique for softening and blending.)
Connecting Neighbor with Neighbour
Completed in 1929, the remarkable Ambassador Bridge over the Detroit River is about a one-and-a-half-mile suspension bridge that connects the U.S.A.’s Detroit, Michigan with Canada’s Windsor, Ontario. Being likely the most unobservant person you’ve ever (or maybe never) met, it amazes me that I’ve never found myself unintentionally on the entrance ramp. I’d have approximately 7500 feet to contemplate how to handle my situation upon arrival. My chances of being prepared, dignified, and self-assured are nearly nada.
“Hi! Give me a hug!
Finally, we meet! And me,
without my passport.”
© Marie Elena Good 2026
Welcome, then Watch
Women who are new to our country, culture, and language enter Miss Tatyana’s classroom for their first day of school. For many, it is their first day of school, ever. They enter a clean, well-lit, lovely room. They are greeted with warm, smiling eyes, and an offer of tea. They see words they can’t read, written on a large whiteboard, “I didn’t come here to teach you. I came here to love you. Love will teach you.” These words, from ancient Indian scripture, speak the heart of their new teacher. She translates the words to their own language, and watches as their nerves visibly ease. They hug, love in return, and begin to learn.
When welcomed inside
and planted in prepared soil,
non-native plants thrive.
© Marie Elena Good 2026
Alysa Liu
Proud daughter of a
political refugee,
gold wasn’t her goal.
Those who’d see her worth
only through a gold medal,
wouldn’t see her worth.
© Marie Elena Good 2026
Trust sweater weather
for steamy mug of tea
and warm conversation.
Affecting music
even with no lyrics, moves
the coldest of hearts.
Winter Olympics,
please bring earnest empathy
nation-to-nation.
Mittens are better
for keeping fingers warm,
for they get to cuddle.
Each winter, our birds
follow suet meals with a
preheated bird bath.
(c) Marie Elena Good 2026
Todays and Tomorrows are Made of Moments
I hail tomorrow
as if this day I have is
not nearly enough.
Or dread tomorrow
as if this day I am in
is all that matters.
Lord help me embrace
the moments and hours of now,
before time slips by.
Help me spend my time
in ways that venerate You.
Not frivolously.
Not indifferently.
Kindly. Considerately.
In lockstep with You.
© Marie Elena Good 2026
#seventeenintwentysix
You know the saying: “There aren’t enough hours in a day.” For me, it seems true. Whether I’m swamped or have a relatively clear schedule, tasks sit languidly. Then there’s, “God gave them more than 24 hours in a day.” This isn’t a saying. It is simply what my husband and I tell each other regarding a few people we intimately know. These are people whose eyes appear to focus on the manifold good God seems to ask of them. Their hands and feet don’t falter. They accomplish more in one day than I do in perhaps a month. Evidently time is of no concern when motivated hearts are in sync with God’s own.
“She would have helped
had she but found the time,”
the saddest stone cries.
© Marie Elena Good 2026
Mom and Dad used to live
two doors down from us.
Some mornings
Dad would walk over,
sit down for a cup of coffee
and a few laughs.
Eventually, coffee became
an excuse for a talk.
For questions.
One day his question was,
“Will you keep this in a safe place for me?”
He opened a tiny matchbox-sized box,
pulled out a piece of paper that was
folded, and folded, and folded, and
he read it to me.
It was a poem. The first he’d ever written.
He was a young boy, and it was to his dad
who had unexpectedly passed.
I watched him fold and fold and fold
and carefully put it back in the box
while I pondered why suddenly,
after close to 7 decades,
did he need me to keep it safe for him?
One day his question was
from his doctor:
“Do you have a plan in place for if
she becomes violent?”
One day his question was,
“Do you think I need to worry
about her beginning to wander?”
One day his question was,
“What will I do
the day we wake up
and she doesn’t know me?”
Two doors down from us,
Mom and Dad used to live.
© Marie Elena Good 2026
Mom passed February 9, 2018. Dad passed 35 days later. They were interred together on September 8, 2018 — the anniversary of their wedding.
“But when he had thought this over, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream, saying, ‘Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife; for the Child who has been conceived in her is of the Holy Spirit.’” ~ Matthew 1:20
“ … an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream. “Get up,” he said, “take the child and his mother and escape to Egypt. Stay there until I tell you, for Herod is going to search for the child to kill him.”So he got up, took the child and his mother during the night and left for Egypt, where he stayed until the death of Herod. And so was fulfilled what the Lord had said through the prophet: “Out of Egypt I called my son.” ~ Matthew 2:13-15
POSSIBLE PONDERINGS OF A CARPENTER NAMED JOSEPH
God gifted me a mind to work with wood,
which business customers respect, it seems.
I’ve taught my son my craft since his boyhood,
but never spoke about my angel dreams.
The default mind of carpentry is ruled.
It’s symmetry. It’s slated, and exact.
A carpenter is practiced, skilled, and schooled.
I see in my own son much more than that.
I cannot count the multitude of times
these angels’ words return to haunt my mind.
My years have not played out in paradigms —
my anchor-bolted views left far behind.
I cannot say I’ve understood the role
as asked of me by Mary, or by God.
I’ve questioned in my heart and in my soul,
if Mary’s story was a mere façade.
Though some advised me, “Have her put away,”
I knew the horrid fate she would have faced.
I could not stand the thought that they may slay
the one whose love and life I have embraced.
But, truth-be-told, it’s turned me inside-out,
accepting what the angels showed to me.
I sometimes wish I’d chosen my own route,
but then I look around me and I see:
The pureness of a son we can’t explain.
His understanding of the ancient scrolls.
An innate wisdom he could never feign.
We’re wholly humbled to accept our roles.
© Marie Elena Good 2025
pictured words 