Monthly Archives: January 2014

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It Can Wait

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Categories: Art, Tags: , , , ,

It was a sun drenched day in North Carolina. You could smell the sweet blossom of wildflowers in the air. It seemed like one of those days where everything would be beautiful and clean…not too humid, not too cool, everything alive with color.

My son, his father and I packed ourselves into the car to head into town. We were living out in the country at the time, and town was a few miles away.

I remember as we were approaching the main highway, that I was staring off into a field with an old, huge house at the end. We were just getting ready to make a right onto the main highway.

That’s when I heard my boyfriend gasp and point. I was shaken out of my poetic bliss and looked in the direction he was pointing. There was a mini van on its side in a ditch that sat in front of one of the homes lined across the opposite side of the highway. There were no emergency vehicles nor police at the wreckage. It had just happened.

I mentioned that, and my boyfriend, being a former EMT, asked me if he should stop to help. Of course I said yes. He pulled over on the right shoulder and hurried across the highway.

From our car, I saw a thin, leggy, time stricken woman walking around in a tank top and shorts, looking confused and shocked.

Others had pulled over by then, and I saw them lift a baby from the rear of the van. My boyfriend was at the front passengers side, where the van was impacted the most. He appeared to be talking to someone.

I decided to get out and told my son to stay in the back seat of our car and keep his seatbelt on, even though we were parked.

As I began to walk across the highway, my boyfriend rushed across with his hand up and said in a choked up voice “Go back to the car, you don’t want to see this”. Not used to seeing him near tears, I went back to the car and watched him as he walked back to the passenger side of the van, his arm outstretched to the inside and his lips moving.

It seemed like it took too long for medics to arrive. And I suppose, with a wreck far out on country roads, it did take them awhile.

My boyfriend returned to the car some minutes after medics, police and a helicoptor arrived. He was clearly shaken and so was I, and our son was of course full of questions.

My boyfriend said he was holding the woman’s hand and trying to calm her as she was dying. He later told me their was a gurgling sound when she tried to talk and that her other hand that he was not holding was hanging there, almost severed.

I learned later that the wreck happened because the driver answered a cell phone call and lost control of her vehicle. Her inlaw sister was the one who died.

PLEASE! IT CAN WAIT! If not, then pull over to a safe place. By doing so, you can save the lives of others as well as your own…

Heather Lenz

by

Awakening

Categories: Poems, Tags: , , , , , ,

Unsplash / Pixabay

Awakening

You said something about flowers.
Apparently a man stood in your way.

There was a desk with no paper or pen.
You wore a lavender sweater & prayed
for light.

At night, terror pulled you
from sleep. A shadow standing over you.
A rosary swung from a bird’s beak.

You crawled out your window, hoping
to catch dust from the last falling star.
You breathed in the scent of Moonflower
from your vision.

Everything became holy & scattered.

Your hands trembled, petals crushed
in your palms.

At dawn, you found yourself
sitting in a Redwood forest,
Imprints of faerie wings
on your arms.

Eyes becoming one
with a nearby stream…

~Heather Lenz

This poem was published in Issue 1 of BAD ACID LABORATORIES INC.

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Letter #2

Categories: Journal, Tags: , , ,

Dear Heather,

I hope this finds you and Jacob well. You are both such kind, beautiful people. Thank you for shining your light upon this world. This place certainly needs people like you, always ready with an encouraging word or a helping hand.

May you always find the strength and courage to be the kind hearted souls you were born to be.

“It is work to ride
head up and holy here.
It is painters with slack
in their brush,
Painters all jacked up on
stampede dust
Just tryin’ to get it right”

~Buddy Wakefield

with Love,
M.D.
December 2013
 

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