And The Day Light Goes to Bed

The gray, white, fluffy clouds

hang low in the baby blue sky.

The constant moon glows, and shines,

high overhead.

The trees bursting with buds

incline this way and that,

like a pregnant woman ready to give birth.

The bunny rabbit scurries

under the dark olive bush

wagging its white cotton tail.

The street light ignites

suddenly above,

And the sun sets in the West,

on a horizon of many reds.

The clouds

linger in the darkened sky

and the day light goes to bed.

By TiffanyCreek

The Beauty of Imperfection

In my youth, I made this calligraphy, “Dust of Snow”.  My mom guided me in the process. Her love for the poetry of Robert Frost naturally influenced my choice of words. Having saved the original, she handed it over to me later in life.  I cherish it for posterity. Beautiful in all its imperfection, it reminds me of who I was, and the person I grew to be today.

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TiffanyCreek

My Grandmother’s Love Letters by Hart Crane

Mary Elizabeth
Photo TiffanyCreek

There are no stars tonight

But those of memory.

Yet how much room for memory there is

In the loose girdle of soft rain.

There is even room enough

For the letters of my mother’s mother,

Elizabeth,

That have been pressed so long

Into a corner of the roof

That they are brown and soft,

And liable to melt as snow.

Over the greatness of such space

Steps must be gentle.

It is all hung by an invisible white hair.

It trembles as birch limbs webbing the air.

And I ask myself:

“Are your fingers long enough to play

Old keys that are but echoes:

Is the silence strong enough

To carry back the music to its source

and back to you again

As though to her?”

Yet I would lead my grandmother by the hand

Through much of what she would not understand:

And so I stumble.  And the rain continues on the roof

With such a sound of gently pitying laughter.