I can almost remember the house in Taos
That I never got to live in–
The adobe walls and adobe plaster dust,
The sun room and warm floors,
The studio with glass doors,
The mountain view outside the kitchen,
The sage brush and winter mud,
The magpies that lived in the junipers,
The magical New Mexican sky.
I can almost remember…
A house we built and gave away,
And how I cried away lost latilla dreams
While the Universe told me this was not our place.
-K
In this picture
I see mountains
And a desert scape
So real
It might be where
I am supposed to be.
In this view
I am happy,
Living a life
Not quite expected,
But turning the twists
Into joy.
-K
Paper dolls blowing in the wind,
Haunt me now.
Holding little paper hands,
Blowing away,
Like so many Autumn leaves.
-K
Sadness fills my heart
That art
Continues
But I do not.
I am ashamed of my status,
Unequal to everyone.
And the world
Keeps on spinning.
When will I create again?
Do I have anything to say?
The world passes me by.
I am on a dead end
To certain dismal failure
Where my solitude
Suffocates me
And my muse
Wrings her hands
In shame,
In pain,
Waiting for me
To wake up
And participate.
-K
