(living the life)

living the life:
shaving my legs to the new
Coldplay album

morning tea

like the allegiance of a faithful friend
like the familiar hand of a lover
like the loyalty of a family pet

Support the next generation of poets!

Loud and Unclear

Her voice was unnecessarily
loud and obnoxious -- making
it hard to concentrate on the
book about nonreligious
thoughts on Christian spirituality
that I was reading in
the salon chair next to her.

Why is she talking so loudly,
I wondered to myself, irritated
that I was re-reading the same
paragraph for the fifth time.
Does she have any idea how
annoying she sounds, I thought,
noting that her stylist seemed
to be put off, as well -- assumedly
speaking only once in a while
to preserve her own sanity.

Before I did anything I would
immediately regret, I checked
myself. Why was I so perturbed?
It wasn't time for PMS and it hadn't
been long since my last meal.

Suddenly, it hit me like a hummingbird
plowing into a glass door.
She was insecure, I reasoned,
and unable to rest in silence, let
alone enjoy it. She had to fill
every moment with some sort of
blabber -- followed by nervous
laughter and a new batch of jabber.

She doesn't like herself, I
suspected. Has she ever
felt cherished and celebrated?
Does know that she was
created to be captivating
and valuable, even irreplaceable;
who is going to tell her the truth
about who she is meant to be?

I watched her hair dresser
finish her cut, then blow dry and
style the woman's strawberry
blonde hair out of the corner of
my eye, and noticed when she
walked toward the front
counter to pay her bill.

I felt as helpless as a hostage
in my chair. How could I
make a difference in an
absolute stranger's life?
I said a quick prayer, asking
God to bring someone into
her life to love and help her,
and went back to my book.

It was clear to me that she
needed to hear the truth, but
unclear as to how it would happen.
Part of me wanted to take off after
her in my salon frock and aluminum-
foiled hair to talk with her. The
other side of me felt like I do when
I see starving children from
Africa on TV -- hurting for them
but frozen in another land.

(Office breakroom zoo)

Office breakroom zoo --
is the workload so bad that
we seek solace there?

Ink on Ink

I have a problem
marking in a poetry book.
I can use a pencil, mind you,
to underline, applaud or question
a passage, line or word in a book
of poetry all day long. But I have
some kind of curious aversion
to doing so in ink – as if adding
my ink on the page would
somehow dishonor the existing
print on the page.
Stranger still, I have no problem
using a pen in a work of fiction
or nonfiction. But
a collection of poems
somehow commands a sort of
respect, a sacred care,
a reverent response – like
a sunset or the miracle of birth.

If Melody Is Nourishment, Harmony Is Healing

Do you ever wish you could
drink music – first in soft sips,
then steady swallows, and,
at times, greedy gulps?

I need consistent installments –
like doses of medicine
carefully measured out
by the hours, days, and
weeks of the month.

It moves me like the
majesty of a mountain,
the splendor of a sunrise,
the openness of an ocean;
like the moment you know
that you're home.

(By the time you finally)

By the time you finally
understand your job,
you no longer want it.

Matters of Intake

I have a friend who devours
poems like she devours
sumptuous chocolate cake --
with a feminine fortissimo,
speedily savoring each serving.

I, on the other hand,
experience poems like I
experience creme brulee or flan --
slowly, deliberately,
careful not to overdue it,
knowing that too much
of a good thing will ruin
the power of the moment.

I do not think either way
is superior -- only that one
approach is better for
that particular partaker.

Even now I am closing
a book of poetry,
instinctively knowing
when to say "when."

(sitting in a meeting)

sitting in a meeting
with no clue
dreaming of the beach

(excited to finish the book)

excited to finish the book;
sad to see it
end

(the cardinal)

the cardinal
sounding off
like the Fourth of July

with gratitude to Rebecca J. Davenport for a spectacular ending

(they lean in with)

they lean in with
eyes wide open and
mouths tightly shut

(a generous lark)

a generous lark
and her five fine, feathered friends
treated me to lunch

The Walk

We were like ducklings
following Mrs. Rempala
all the way from our
elementary school to
the nearest track for
practice. Our track team
was permitted to use
Riley Elementary's
facility for our workouts,
as our campus barely
had room for a jungle
gym. I remember walking
through the neighborhoods
between Kyger and Riley
and looking up into the
budding trees the springs
of my fifth and sixth grade
years. I breathed in the
April air and experienced
my first taste of independence,
responsibility and healthy
competition on that walk,
mentally preparing for
the 60 meter dash, my next
boyfriend and junior high.

Without a Honk

There were four
of them -- four
graceful geese
gliding over 65
North as the four-
lane interstate
backed up
farther and farther
south. In the midst
of the two-accident
Tuesday morning
turmoil, just as I
began to grip my
steering wheel
in frustration, I
saw the quartet
breezing over
all four lanes
of traffic without
a honk of their own --
so soft, so peaceful,
so content; so intent.
I watched them
split into two pairs
and continue on their
January journey,
as I adjusted my
hands and then
my attitude, without
a honk of my own.

Grounds for Investment

There's something about
a coffee shop. There's
a sense of life in
the scent of the brew.
It's the occasion to
have a conversation --
to share your heartbreak
with your best friend, to
give your heart to
the love of your life,
to reconnect with
the parent you haven't
spoken to in years.
It's a safe haven.
It's a place of
possibility. The
richness of the roast
grants a sort of
permission to relax
and invest yourself,
to invest your time,
invest your interest
in another. To drink
well, breathe deep
and speak often.

(having a hard time)

having a hard time
deleting her death notice
from my inbox

© Amy E. Hall 2008

(sick feeling with no-)

sick feeling with no-
where to go: knowing my co-
worker is cheating

© Amy E. Hall 2008

Perspective

For Marcy

She was on the e-mail list
that I administer each month.
I took her off the list
two months ago without
instruction to do so.
I had been frustrated that
she never responded to
my carefully constructed,
time-consuming messages
and occasional updates.
I wondered why, month
after month, she didn't
reply or at least accept
my offer to remove her
from the distribution list,
until I received notification
this morning that she just
passed away after a
three-year battle
with cervical cancer.

© Amy E. Hall 2008

Super Tanker

Strange that
my little, black
tank top takes
longer to dry
than anything
else in the load.
Is it too big for
its britches?
Does it have
super powers
that were not
described on its
tag or washing
instructions?
Or does it simply
long for summer
so badly that it
insists on defying
normal logic
until summer
arrives again?

© Amy E. Hall 2008

(simple pleasures)

simple pleasures:
my turn signal blinker in sync
with the song on the radio

© Amy E. Hall 2008

(kitty for keeps)

kitty for keeps:
quiet, self-cleaning,
committed companion

© Amy E. Hall 2008

(enjoying chips and)

enjoying chips and
salsa, and a new CD,
waiting on a poem

© Amy E. Hall 2007

(late dinner downtown)

late dinner downtown
a rented movie
Happy New Year

© Amy E. Hall 2007

(Miles Davis on tap)

Miles Davis on tap
grape juice in the stereo
a New Year's Eve day

© Amy E. Hall 2007

(finishing the last of)

finishing the last of
the egg nog as the
year comes to a close

© Amy E. Hall 2007

(running to the computer)

running to the computer
with cereal bowl in hand
to capture this moment

© Amy E. Hall 2007

Between Catnaps

Her silky, black paw
claimed a red circle
on the pillow
as if to begin
a silent, solo
game of Twister.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

Living Room Cafe

I baked the last five strips
of bacon in a shallow pan
at 375 degrees on a Friday
night as the month of
October came to a close.
While the sizzle and scent
crescendoed in the oven,
my cat lifted her nose in the
air to sniff the pork as it popped.

Twenty-three minutes later,
I read an article on the history
of American music with one
hand on my bacon sandwich and
one hand on the magazine,
my living room now a sort
of makeshift eatery, with all the
comforts of home and the smells
and sounds of a corner cafe.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

(crisp bacon sandwich)

crisp bacon sandwich
cold Coca-Cola Classic
quiet Friday night

© Amy E. Hall 2007

Clean Sweep

My heart is a
cavern housing
remnants of secrets
from my former
life -- memories
of you and
misgivings that
I wish I could
sweep out with
a fine-toothed
comb to reach
those lingering,
unwanted hangers-on
that hide in the
cracks, corners
and crevices.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

(minutes turn into)

minutes turn into
snails as I await your re-
ply this afternoon

© Amy E. Hall 2007

My Reading Interrupted by a Kiss

They walked in the door
hand in hand, the mother
first, followed by her
abnormally slender son.
Her offspring obviously
suffering from a disfiguring
physical condition, she
led the way through the
busy repair shop's customer
lounge. As we waited for
our names to be called,
some read, some talked
with inside voices, and
others watched the Channel
2 Morning News. The
young man leaned over
to his mother's ear and
uttered a few indistinguishable
syllables and she responded
in hushed tones. With a
mother's understanding, she
got up and poured her special
boy a cup of coffee and
served it with a stirring stick.
As he sucked the steaming
beverage through the
makeshift straw, he held
his Styrofoam cup carefully
while she poured a cup of
joe for herself. Once she sat
down again, he leaned over
and toasted a cheer to his
mom, tapping his white cup
against hers with a crooked
smile. Trying not to eavesdrop
or interrupt their tender
moment, my tears increased
as she leaned over and
kissed his sweet, distorted,
beautiful, little face.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

(cat dusty)

cat dusty
from her romp
in the windowsill

© Amy E. Hall 2007

Summer Simplicity

As summer begins to
close her eyes in
exchange for fall's
awakening, I want
to remember these
days; what it feels
like to slip into
sandals, and hop into
the car without a
jacket and drive to
meet some friends
with Tennessee's green
hills in front of me and
the sun on my back.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

Return of the Herons

They prefer to come out at night
by the light of the moon
when they have a captive audience
on a Tennessee patio deck
at the end of summer.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

Nightdreaming

I want to stay up all night
and read books -- a book
about loving homosexuals,
one on how to help people,
and my poetry prof's latest
collection. I want to forget
about showing up at the
office at 8 a.m. and read
deep into the night, with a
strong cup of black tea with
sugar to start, followed later
by a mixed-berry-flavored
green tea, and filtered water
for a chaser. I want to read
and drink the hours away, full
of the wonder of words and
those who craft them.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

Burning Bridges

I've been saving a candle
that you bought me 10
years ago. Tonight, I am
burning the candle, as well
as that bridge to the past.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

(got makeup on the)

got makeup on the
pages of my new book while
trying to smell it

© Amy E. Hall 2007

Saving the Planet One Saturday at a Time

I set out on a Tennessee August morning
with a strong mug of black tea and
four plastic bags of recyclables. The
15-minute drive didn't seem out of my
way at all, on a leisurely Saturday with
the new Over the Rhine album spinning
and the beautiful houses lining the roads.
When I drove up to Granberry Elementary,
I saw children, parents and grandparents
in the parking lot emptying their bags
and bins into the large, green dumpsters,
each wearing a silent smile on their face.
I unloaded my car and placed two of the
four bags on the pavement next to my
Corolla and went to contribute my
glass-bottle and tin-can offerings to the
green gods. When I returned to the
Toyota to empty the other two bags,
I noticed that they were gone. Looking up,
I realized that a young mother and her son
had seen my bags and volunteered to
empty them, without a whisper. On my way
back home, I couldn't help but feel good,
knowing that I made a small dent in the
refuse relief effort that day, on a Saturday
morning in a matter of three minutes.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

Boredom

Boredom

is

a

killer.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

I Deserve Better Than a Half-Baked Love

It's hard to wait for the
main course when you're
hungry. Ample appetizer
choices tempt you to
fill up on tantalizing tidbits
one bite at a time.

It gets lonely dining by
yourself -- one person
at a table set for two --
as pretty as the table
might be, with glowing
votives and romantic roses.

But I want the real meal deal --
not some fill-me-up
pick-me-up. It's easier
to hail the server and
order a cocktail than
to sit and endure
abdominal rumbles,
more-than-anxious
salivatory reactions
and sensory overload.

I've had my fill of
hors d'oeuveres
in the past. I'm
ready for the
complete entree --
the whole enchilada.
I will survive the
hunger pangs and
the craving for
that which truly
nourishes -- in
anticipation of the
special order the
Head Chef
is preparing for me
by hand.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

(Once I heard)

Once I heard
your voice,
I could breathe again.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

Freedom Friday

for Angela and Julie

I remember our evening at
Laguna Beach -- the perfect
blend of sun and breeze,
fish and avocado on the patio,
the lively waves sneaking
up on us and our rolled-up
pant legs, happy dogs
walking their owners, the
sparkling sand drying on
our feet -- all reminders of
the vastness of the
goodness of our Father.

© Amy E. Hall 2007

21-Day Turnoff

I will not be blogging between July 8 (12 p.m.) and July 28 (11:55 p.m.). I am voluntarily participating in a 21-day media turnoff for the purposes of "detoxifying" from the influences of American media and culture, and further cultivating my spiritual life and intimacy with Jesus Christ. For more information on the 21-Day Turnoff, click here. I shall return...

(bird in the airport)

bird in the airport
telling us how much he wants
to find his way out

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

(Monday morning smile)

Monday morning smile:
fresh hot water on the Bunn
Omatic burner

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

(a steeping black brew)

a steeping black brew
my favorite morning mug
nectar of the leaves

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

(her record)

her record
beautifully haunting
like dark honey dripping thickly

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

(realizing that)

realizing that
I am no longer the same
woman you once knew

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

(on the way to work)

on the way to work
eating plastic-flavored cheese
old Monterey Jack

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

(Sunday night in the)

Sunday night in the
backyard, irritated with
the dictionary

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

(I wrote this haiku)

I wrote this haiku
because I didn't have a
new one to send you.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

Back-Up Sweater

I've got a sweater that smells like
"cabinet." It lives in my filing
cabinet at work and lies in wait for
unexpected, indoor arctic blasts
and unsightly wardrobe catastrophes.
A hand-me-up from my little sister,
the black cardigan sports
endearing, white pill balls and
a hole in the armpit region.
Despite its geriatric-like shrinkage,
I can't bring myself to throw
the poor thing away, remembering
all the years and relationships
and jobs and moves that we've
weathered together.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

The Bathroom Game

When it comes to the ladies' room,
there are rules to abide --
unspoken standards to uphold,
understood etiquette -- pee-pee protocol
and doo-doo decorum, if you will.
This code of conduct especially
relates to the public work restroom.
Those who play the game will
experience the least amount of
nasal discomfort and embarrassment.
Those who refuse to adopt the laws
of the stalls, will suffer the due penalty.

Rule #1: Enter said establishment.
Rule #2: Scout out the available stalls.
Rule #3: Match up the ladies at the sinks to the appropriate toilets.
Rule #4: Avoid entering the stall that was most recently vacated, at all cost.
Note: This will require quick assessment and problem-solving skills on your part.
Rule #5: When possible, allow for an empty stall between you and the next pottier.
Rule #6: Select the best choice at that moment.
Rule #7: Toilet as necessary.
Rule #8: Proceed to your assigned sink.
Rule #9: While washing hands, glare at any noncompliant pottier, letting the offender know that she is out of line.
Rule #10: Exit the establishment and wish any incoming traffic good luck.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

Between the Lines and Me

I like to hold books and
magazines and CD booklets
in my hands. Electronic
versions don't allow
for handling and care
and communion between
the author, the pages,
the words and the reader.

I like to live in a book --
to touch and participate,
to make notes in the margins,
to bravo, to question, to laugh.
There is a quiet exchange
between the lines and me,
a silent interaction (though
sometimes I laugh out loud
or sigh with great delight).

Every new book is a
literary cornucopia --
full of wit, mystery,
inspiration, wisdom --
a word awaiting, a
new world to discover,
to experience, to embrace,
a friend to keep on the
shelf of my heart.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

(cute)

cute:
a chirp from
my happy cat

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

Healing Like a Whisper

It's funny how healing arrives
so quietly,
so gracefully,
in such contrast to the
rage and unmanageable
chaos of unhealthy
relationships, addictions
and personal pandemonium
that blow in like a hurricane,
exploiting your most
precious possessions;
ripping life right out
of your fingertips.

The peace appears
so softly,
so subtly,
on tiptoes;
without introduction --
like a whisper --
telling me that health
and new life are here;
that the things which once
consumed me no longer
burn within me, but have
been relinquished and
replaced with healing balm.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

Bookstore Boar

"We have a no-snoring
policy," she assured me
from behind the counter.
The large man in the
true blue sweat suit and
camouflaged vest had been
disturbing my reading for
10 minutes and counting.
The deep, nasal vacuum
vortex sounded more like
an industrial machine
than a man. The barista
called for the manager
as I angrily took out
my notebook to write.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

Good Use of Time

I read a poem during the
three minutes my
tea was steeping.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

I'm Becoming a True Introvert

My favorite evenings consist of
a big bowl of mint chocolate chip
ice cream and an equally tasty book.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

My Girl

She knows how to be
cute.
She knows just the
right pose or look
to give me that will
send me into a
state of acute
appreciation --
the kind that seizes
me until I pet her velvet
coat.
She knows the cutest
ways to meow and
purr and stir her paws.

And she knows it.

She knows she's
cute.
And there's no way
I can help myself
from loving and
stroking and cooing
and thinking how
lucky I am to have
found her.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

Bliss

Sitting at home with
a new book,
new magazine
and two new CDs.

More Bliss:

All bought on sale.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

In Those Last Moments

What must it have been like
to know that you were about
to be torturously beaten and
brutally crucified? I wonder
if He reviewed His time on
earth in the Garden of
Gethsemane, flipping
through the slide show of
His mind. Did He think of
His family -- His father's
smile, His mother's embrace,
His siblings' laughter --
His favorite adventures,
His favorite foods, His closest
friends? Did He rub His hands
and feet, nauseous at the
thought of the massive nails
ripping their muscles and
snapping their bones? I wonder
if, in His mind's eye -- with the eye
of the Spirit -- He saw the faces
of those He healed and
delivered, and the faces
of all those yet to be freed.
Ultimately, in those last
moments, He saw the face
of God, the will of His Father.
He said "no" to His flesh and
His emotions and "yes" to the
Kingdom of Heaven, as
He knelt one last time and
said, in essence,
"Your Kingdom come.
Your will be done."

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

(happiness is)

happiness is
sushi and ice cream
with a friend

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

(every morning)

every morning
Asian man
walking the sidewalk

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

(puffy clouds)

puffy clouds
low enough to pass
for a second tree line

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

I Wonder What You Are Thinking, But I'm Not Going to Try to Find Out

Twenty months after our last
good-bye, you left a message
on my voicemail account at work
to wish me a happy birthday.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

(colors flirt with)

colors flirt with
the morning sky
horizontal rainbow

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

Tea by Invitation

Tea is a lady's drink.

There's a quiet strength inside those leaves.
Tea does not assault the body, like coffee.
Rather, it washes over the system, by invitation,
lending what is desired -- be it flavor, repose or
wakefulness. Tea is a song of celebration,
a song of comfort, a song of centricity.

Tea is a lady's drink.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

Woman of the Word

for Julie Jarrett Hall

I remember walking through the backyard
behind our little brick house, singing the lines
to your songs during my afternoon playtime.
I felt important, knowing all the words and
the melodies. Proud of myself, I sang the
verses and choruses out loud, feeling some
sense of connection with your songs and
with you. On those hot summer days, I was
proud of myself, proud of you and proud
to be your daughter.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

Presents from Dad

He was so excited to bring "surprises"
home to us, whether it was a $5 movie
from McDonald's, Sam's Club chocolate
chip cookies, or a two liter of Dr. Pepper.
My sisters and I would laugh at him
and try to downplay his "treats," but it
was his simple, silly, contagious joy
that made the best gift of all.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

(mention of the "M word")

mention of the "M word"
giving me the shivers
on Rosa's couch

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

(I love this morning)

I love this morning --
tea, toast, cheese, apple
and poetry to start the day.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

(how I know that)

how I know that
she's awake: her
trademark sniffle

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

(I am writing poems and crying)

I am writing poems and crying --
so thankful for words and for
love and for loving words.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

A Beautiful Sisterhood

for Lindsay and Joanne

There is nothing like the
tender kindness of a sister,
the delicate care of a friend.
I had never known this kind
of joy

before now,

this kind of pure delight that
frees my heart to be me in the
fullness of beauty and to rest
in the able arms of sisterhood.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

Taste of Adulthood

"Why do I like coffee
so much?" I wonder, from
time to time. Perhaps
it's because Mom and
Dad drank it routinely
while I was growing
up. It seemed like
such an "adult" drink --
a special, yet necessary
treat -- with milk and
sugar each morning.
Or maybe because it
reminds me of my
college years --
discovering mochas,
hazelnut lattes, the smell
of espresso and the cool
coffeehouse culture.
I was finally a grown-up
enjoying the taste of
adulthood for myself.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

The Beauty of Music

Unlike former fashions, old albums
never go out of style. I can pop a
CD in the player that smacks of
poodle skirts, bell-bottoms, leg
warmers or leather pants without
worry of how that might reflect on
my personal fashion sense. Music
bursts through barriers of time and
trend. It cannot be contained or
confined to years, decades or centuries.
Music lives on, as long as you play it.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

Poet for a Day

I traded my corporate
cubicle for a sophomore
literature class for the day,
reading selections for the
high school students in
my teacher friend's first,
second and fourth
periods, as a guest poet.
Afterward, I spent the
afternoon at a bookstore,
reading the work of
professional poets and
dreaming of the day
that it will be my turn.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

The Dancing Queen

She taught us what it meant to
be married to melody -- singing
and dancing across the linoleum
floor, sometimes lip-syncing and
sometimes belting out the lines
with gusto. My sisters and I sang
into hairbrushes with a sparkle in
our eyes, while the vinyl spun
'round and Mom reigned as queen
of the dining room dance floor.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

Slow Down

Sometimes people let caffeine
get the best of them. They walk
around like they've got bees
in their britches, like the world
is going to expire if they don't
stomp down the halls at lightening
speed. Some days I fear being
trampled to death, while in the
path of someone on the warpath
to a corporate meeting. Unless
it's a "dire emergency" -- the term
my sixth grade teacher,
Mrs. Brewer, used to refer to
restroom urgencies -- or,
heaven forbid, your loved one has
been in a terrible accident, there
is no need to walk like a power
walker on a mission (unless, of
course, you are a power walker
doing your workout routine). The
fault does not necessarily lie in
the hands of espresso addicts, but
perhaps with American culture
as a whole. Maybe if we all
slowed down enough to see the
chaos we create for ourselves,
we would actually be productive.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

Roommates Who Write

We meet in the kitchen --
she for her cereal and
me for my soup --
sharing a few words
before we retreat to
our respective quarters
and continue our writing.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

Downtown

It's hard for me to be
on your side of town.
There's too much history,
too many memories
to forget that my life
was once here
with you.

I do not wish to
repeat the past or
return to you.
There is much I
miss of you, but I
am not willing to
trade my life today
for that of yesterday.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

(the smell of a coffeehouse)

the smell of a coffeehouse:
one of the things I fell
in love with in college

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

(draining the last bit of)

draining the last bit of
froth from my coffee cup,
not wanting the evening to end

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

Bookstore

The silence of readers reading,
the screech of the espresso machine,
the whispered conversations shared
between bites of bagel, biscotti and bisque,
each one a part of the quiet community --
learning, leaning and listening.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

(The less I spoke of you)

The less I spoke of you,
the quicker you left me
alone.

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

(my goal)

my goal:
to make sure
she smiles

© 2007 Amy E. Hall

(the trick to)

the trick to
surviving traffic:
good music

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

Invisible Scab

Like a scab that covers
a wound until the new
skin arrives, silently,
overnight, a protective
covering has appeared
on my wounded heart to
guard it while You heal
the hurt with Your strong,
tender hand. I feel the
invisible shield keeping
me from further injury as
You mend me from within.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

Snow Garden

Our yard was a garden
of snow and our father
was the gardener. He
made snow forts and
an obstacle course of
sorts for my sisters and
me in the front yard one
winter. It was an exciting
adventure, and a little
bit scary, but I felt safe
knowing that Dad was
guiding the sled and
guarding the fort. I still
remember his laugh
that day as we squealed
with delight, holding tight
to the orange, plastic sled.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

Acrocats

Cats can contort their
bodies in such curious
configurations. Whether
for bathing, hunting,
napping or recreational
purposes, they can be
seen in the most peculiar
forms. I am convinced
that cats would make
incredible gymnastic
competitors -- curvy,
little acrobats with keen
eyesight, magnificent
agility and nine lives apiece.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

Thanksgiving Traffic

Three miles in an
hour and a half --
bumper-to-bumper
interstate congestion and
stomach indigestion,
angry drivers with
hungry kids, no
exit in sight, and
no explanation.
Arrivals delayed;
hugs and hand-
shakes on hold;
dinners postponed.
It was easy to get
irritated and impatient,
until we saw
the white sheet
on the ground.
Suddenly, we were
thankful for the
fume-filled air that
we were breathing.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

From One Keyboard to Another

Sometimes, when I have my
headphones on at work, I
find myself typing in rhythm
to the tunes tapping their
way into my eardrums. Bobbing
my head to the beat and
hitting the keys in syncopation,
I feel almost as if I am a part of
the album orchestration flares,
fills and frills. I wonder if my
co-workers notice as I nod up
and down, rolling my fingers
on the black keys. I smile and
continue punching the keys like
a piano keyboard, in time and tempo.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

(in the plastic wrapper)

in the plastic wrapper:
half of a fortune cookie;
half of a fortune

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

(traffic)

traffic --
minutes in car: 30
miles traveled: 0

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

(cat in a frenzy)

cat in a frenzy:
from the window --
watching falling leaves

© 2006 Amy E. Hall

Dichotomy

Half of my week
is spent
missing you desperately.
The other half
is spent
remembering that I
can't
trust you.

© 2006 Amy E. Hall