Prose and Poetry
The Dirt
Until You Find Me
Silver Assault
Stacey Dexter 2010/Revised 2015
Burrowing deep with-in, the mole kisses the Earth
He cherishes the closeness of the deep, rich soil
The dirt envelops him, sweetens him
Tricks him into believing
That the dirt is his savior
Burrowed deep with-in, the mice create a life
The world swirls by, the soil, a pesky hindrance
The dirt envelopes them, burdens them, a nuisance on their shoulders
The dirt and its limitations
I want to burrow, deep with-in, swap my dirt, give it away
Take my soil, maybe warm it, bring it to life
My heart keeps digging, tilling the fresh Earth
Tricking me into believing
That the future is my savior
Silver Assault
Until You Find Me
Silver Assault
Stacey Dexter, 2008
Silver, silver, silver assaults me
Over, and over, and over
Tears cascading, sliding slick
Tiny burning precious gems
Glazing my blushed pink cheeks
Crying down my neck, gliding into my cleavage
A necessary evil to purge the sadness, which never truly leaves me
The melting process unpredictable, soaking wet
I am full of hate at this loss of control....
Tears bursting from my eyes unrestrained, a deluge
My heart, violently rung out by my own two hands
With some help from you...
The loss of you, abandoning this love, our precious gift, for one you only live with, the one that doesn't know you
The one who doesn’t know how to kiss you so that you feel her hunger for you…
The one who doesn’t know how you like to be held, folded up and protected…
The crush of lingering grief, your decision, a blow I've yet to recover from
May never...
My future without you ...paralyzing, intimidating
The grief of losing you, even though there has been no death
To shift, to step, to re-appear
Consuming, passionate love, like you taught me—like we taught each other....
Unstoppable splashes of silver
Foaming puddles of change
Muddy, swampy confusion
I furiously buff my tarnished existence, determined to live,
to change
Hoping for a gleaming new reality
Ah...but the Best Actress Award goes to....
I let the tears attempt to cleanse my thoughts
Resuscitate my arrested heart
Messengers in wet, salty skins
Deliver signals to Heart, to Brain
I beg of them to bring me relief,
a sweet disruption from this heavy weight
At least for today.....at least for this hour...at least, for Now
Until You Find Me
Until You Find Me
Until You Find Me
Stacey Dexter 2010
When I think of you, I smile all over
When I think of you, I cry all night
I keep waiting for that knock on my door
The one sound that will tell me
You haven’t forgotten
In the dark I write these words
Close my eyes and try and will you away
This could be a poem or some kind of letter
Some kind of something….
But there’s a storm outside
Throwing trees around
And I’m alone, wishing the same wish
And I keep listening for your voice, the voice I love saying, “Shhh, everything will be alright.”
Throwing out hope when there is none
It’s a whole new world without you
But just because it’s new doesn’t make it better
What I see is telling:
Your love’s busy running down the street
Scared as hell, looking back over its shoulder
Trying to see—see if I’m still looking
See if I'm still rooted, vulnerable like the trees
And I will stand in the same place
Even in the dark, in the middle of a storm
I'll keep wishing
Until you find me
PUBLISHED POETRY AND PROSE
By Stacey Dexter
Lady Bird
The birds are in flight
Floating, swooping, and gliding in the breeze
Softly lifted by air, pushing through the trees and the grass
Flocking to the feeder that she has placed there for them
She soothes herself by rocking in the chair near the window
Watching each season for the Carolina wrens and the blue jays
The chickadees, the sparrows, and the yellow finch
The cardinals, the mourning doves, the nuthatches
She watches their tiny beaks pecking at the seeds, pecking at each other
Seeds of love and nourishment that she has left for them
A squirrel, unaware of her guardianship, attempts to climb the feeder
She has made the access to the feeder a maze of tricks
The pole on which the feeder hangs is coated with WD40, Vaseline
The pole has Slinkys wound around the metal
The squirrels slip and slide, but still get up the pole
They hang and bounce around on the Slinky’s, tenacious in their attempts to gorge themselves. They are unwanted acrobats.
She lets them get close enough for their little claws to begin to slap at the birdfeeder before she slaps at the window, yelling at them:
“Get the hell away from my birdfeeder!”
They startle and fly off the pole, their itsy-bitsy hearts beating wild as if a wolf has tried to eat them. This makes her laugh sometimes.
Scampering back to the safety of a nearby tree, they wait, until maybe, she is gone. They watch the house. She watches them.
Well…she is gone now. The squirrels won’t miss her. But, the birds surely will, their champion. She is in flight like the birds now.
Free and at peace, the winds carrying her safely home.
Prose Inspiration
My mother passed in 2018, (nine months after my father), and many, many years after fighting cancers of different types. She was very unlucky that way—always fighting something or someone.
In her most peaceful times, she sat in a comfortable modern rocking chair at her kitchen window, watching her bird feeders, feeling in control of something, somehow.
I have noticed birds because of her. They will always remind me of my mother when she was at rest.
FIVE YEARS AFTER MY MOTHER'S DEATH
THE SWANS
By Stacey Dexter, March 2023
I stopped at a lush, green pond thinking of my mother.
Groups of lovely colored ducks and a pair of majestic swans paddled round the edges.
The ducks would clear a path when the swans approached, their silent grandeur akin to royalty.
Our mother studied birds from her own perch at the kitchen window; amused when they’d peck at each other—”Just like an old married couple,” she’d say. “Just like you and Dad!” I’d say.
This made her laugh sometimes—the irony.
She once asked me, “Did you know that swans mate for life and grieve if one dies?”
After her mate, our Dad, passed, the mourning period was slashed to mere months.
The swans reunited with hardly a breath between them.
We imagine our mother now with her beloved sister, Peggy and our Dad, basking in the sunshine of the Cayman Islands,
their laughter bouncing off the green Caribbean water.
Today, the swans glide along with their eyes glued to the brilliant blue sky, wanting for nothing, together again.
-793eda7.png/:/cr=t:30.86%25,l:0%25,w:100%25,h:33.21%25/rs=w:515,h:234,cg:true)
**A book is a THOUGHTFUL gift all year round!**
My new book:
Eddie: One Dog's Journey from Hobo to a Home, makes an excellent gift for the dog lover/reader in your life! When you fill out the info on the Home Page, a signed, personalized copy will be sent directly to the recipient, which includes a special mailing envelope, the book in paw print wrapping paper, and a gift sticker! $20 covers the book and shipping! Support independent authors by ordering directly from me today!