“Some Days”

            Some days, I long to write. My mind yearns to sit with pen clenched in fingers as I translate all the visions in my head into images spilling across the page. Or I spend endless hours with my laptop, creating new worlds peopled by my limitless imagination. I focus on a single meaning and play with a multitude of words until I find just the right combination of syllable. I fill page after page with my heart and soul, and still find more to say. I feel free. I feel young. I feel weightless. I am possibilities.

            Some days, I long to sing. I throw back my head and belt out a song with rapturous abandon. I scale through octaves like a diva. My voice becomes a mockingbird that imitates any singer my spirit desires. I croon lullabies and wail the blues. I feel powerful. I feel bold. I feel ecstasy. I am possibilities.





Belly Dancer by David Chapman

            Some days, I long to dance. I pirouette across the kitchen as I head out the door. I step-shuffle-step-step to the car. I shimmy as I drive to the store. In the parking lot, I perform perfect fan kicks over the grocery cart before I belly dance down the aisles. I feel daring. I feel vivacious. I feel sexy. I am possibilities!

Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"A Thousand Sleepless Nights"

    http://daniellefreelances.wordpress.com/2009/02/15/being-the-single-mother/    

In the dark of night,   

she rocks and hums   

her hand rubbing circles upon her baby’s back   

he hiccoughs   

tucks his small feet against her warmth   

slips into slumber   

she rocks and hums until dawn   

In the dark of night,   

she paces and frets   

her lips pressed to his forehead   

measuring his heat   

as he cries, “Mommy, make it better!”   

she stretches out next to him   

wrapping him in her love   

as she wills away his pain   

In the dark of night,   

she listens and waits   

her body tense and alert   

until the clicking of key in lock   

the signal that he’s safe   

his voice floats on moonlight, “I’m home”   

In the dark of night,   

she sits and cries   

as he unburdens his fears   

her arms ache to hold him, rock him again   

she longs to take away his pain, shelter him from harm   

In the dark of night,   

she rocks and weeps   

her hand rubbing circles over her heartbreak   

her fingers long to stroke his hair, touch his cheek   

her kiss longs to linger on his brow just one more time   

her despair flows   

endless and evermore   

Copyright 2012 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman