The Wind Blows

I am not the interpreter of the dreams I wish for myself nor
The force of solitude I crave in the stillness.

I am fear and regret sitting beneath trees that know neither, while
Causing an ache in my neck as I look up toward the peak of their growth,
Wondering how do they do that?

How do they live with such strength and poise in a world that lives to
Tear them down
Dry them out
And build its own dream out of their bones?

Here they stand
Stoic
Strong
Whispering wisdom in the wind
While I cry
Lost in my life
Unable to know if the quaking in my body is meant to
Break me or move me along?

There is no answer.

There is only wind
And trees
And dreams to be as
I move while they stay as
I cry and they sway whispering
Let go.

Let the wind blow.
CL August 2022

America, the Hopeless

America,
Our longest day has
Faded into memory like
Childhood summers,
We thought it’d last a lifetime.

But here I stand
reflecting on the past
feeling the warmth of
the setting sun on my back
I look to my eldest tree
an American Ash
for comfort leaning into
its sparse shade as
my elongated shadow
merges with its and
I find myself in tears
Knowing it’s dying just like
our democracy.

Infested with
Emerald Ash Borer beetles
discovered too late to undo
the devastation taking place
within its vascular system,
all I can do now is watch as
this once strong tree falls to
the ground
one limb at a time.

Piece-by-broken-piece,
my hope crumbles with it as
our shadows begin to be replaced by
the darken of
day to night and
with it comes
the nightmares,
not made in childhood but
created by
the withering of
the dreams we made when
hope was all we had.

CL June 2022

I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U

Whispers of I love you flow through the ghost of me.
In darkness they fade faintly into walls of peeling paint as
I drift from this moment with each letter until
Y-O-U vanishes with I.

Never to be again.

I know myself too well not to speak stronger than a whisper.
Into the future love will fill this room with such force that
You and I will find each other once more and
We will dance beside love for life.

Never to be broken again.

I love you
I love you
I love, Christa.

Sincerely,
The Ghost of me.

Mother is Here

I am not the daughter of the future
But a mother to my past
Bleeding out what I once remember
From the memory of my aching womb
I will no longer mourn what I was
But rise
In recognition of who I am
Never birthing human life
I will give what life I have
To the voice I silenced
So long ago
To a girl
Awkward in form
An alien amongst the group
She quivered in the corner
Learning to be
But never being
Until I
(taking from a body with nothing to give)
Molded this truth:
Raising a life starts within
Even when we are without.

Speak, my child, Mother is here.

CL March 2022

Reborn

Reborn

Among the weeds of
Distraction
I meditate on
The ancient wisdom of
Words that once
Lifted me
Out of
A grave of despair and
Brought me
New life
As if
I was the miracle Lazarus.

Prophetic in tone
These words
Burned through
My body and
Lit
My soul on
Fire.

I, a hand
Relinquishing
Control.

They, the spirit
Inviting me
Into
A magical mystery of
Musings
Written with
The passion of
Purpose.

I wrote
Not knowing
What was to come
Merely
Trusting
Feeling
Focusing on
The life
Growing
Within
These words and
Bringing
It all into
Existence.

Aw, this was faith!

And in
The face of
Truth
I knew only
The power of
These words.

I healed with them.

I learned from them.

I grew into their voice as
I grew into my being
Until I didn’t.

Until I choked on
Doubt and
Bled out of
Fear and
Wept in
The darkest of
Uncertainty.

And inside me
In the silent space
Where
The words once
Existed
I could only
Hear noise
Scattering
Me into
Pieces.

I feared
I lost the words.

I lost my faith.

I was Peter
Drowning in
A sea of
Doubt.

I panicked
I flailed
Not knowing if
I would survive
I was just
Gasping for
Air
Once
Twice
Three
Times until
I heard without
Ears to hear
A voice say:
Rise from
This sea of
Tears of
Your own creation and
Believe in
Yourself as
we believe in you.

We believe in
You said my
Angel.

I lost myself.

For a time
I let this world into
The space that is
Neither
Lazarus nor
Peter but
Christa April Lamb.

Never again.
Never again.

Never again
Will I doubt
The power of
Me.

I am
Many lifetimes
Sharing truth.

I am
The silent space.

I am
The spirit that
Sets
My soul on
Fire.

I am a poet
Meditating on
The ancient words that
Call on
Me to
Rise.

Rise
Christa!

Rise!

You have been reborn.

CL Jan 2022