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In the broken place
where we live,
hope can be found
in the cracks

If a dandelion
can push herself
up from the earth

though a sliver of light
in cement
and be called a weed

—or a flower
by those who see more
surely, we too can bloom

in our brokenness
where we live
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Chapel Confession

Chapel Confession
I can hear the clamoring of whoever entered the chapel behind me, after I’ve settled in and seeking my silence.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see part of a walker, the source of interruption to my false piety I’m annoyed by the noise.
I choose not to turn around and offer assistance, but remain in my self-righteous angst.
And now, with her hand and a scarred cane (what a cane too?), she grips the wooden-framed kneeler next to me and with a squeaky plop, falls onto the worn out upholstered seat.
I awaken to my better self, and turn to her with a smile, the one I could have given her minutes ago. “Made it! “ I say.
“Made it,” she replies with a tired smile. We both laugh, quietly of course.
After all, we are in the chapel. Jean E. Taddonio

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Chapel Confession

I can hear the clamoring of whoever entered the chapel behind me, after I’ve settled in and seeking my silence.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see part of a walker, the source of interruption to my false piety I’m annoyed by the noise.
I choose not to turn around and offer assistance, but remain in my self-righteous angst.
And now, with her hand and a scarred cane (what a cant too?), she grips the wooden-framed kneeler next to me and with a squeaky plop, falls onto the worn out upholstered seat.
I awaken to my better self, and turn to her with a smile, the one I could have given her minutes ago. “Made it! “ I say.
“Made it,” she replies with a tired smile. We both laugh, quietly of course.
After all, we are in the chapel. Jean E. Taddonio

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Cactus Garden and Rose Garden

CACTUS GARDEN
Balboa Park, San Diego, Ca

Carrying their thorns proudly
in ways we don’t think of,
they reach tall, arching strong
knowing each prickly spear
each stay-away-from-me spike
is part of who they are.
Their blooming will arrive
in spring’s due time
surprising those disdainful eyes
who only fear lies
that promise doom and pain

ROSE GARDEN
Balboa Park, San Diego, CA.

I visit their garden
their pruning’s behind them
stems cleanly severed
planned with perfection,

Trusting the final outcome
they bloom

We survived our recent pruning
though close and severe
while still in our bloom
and ahead of our season,
there was nothing to fear

We can’t always know
reasons for seasons

Now roses smile
their rainbow shades
of pink, orange and reds
lavender blues
strutting lively hues as we do

Their fragrance lifts
the most fragile of hearts
and we remain strong
trusting the outcome,
subdued, renewed, blooming

We can’t always know
reasons for seasons

Jean E. Taddonio

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Seen and Not Heard In the Park

Dirty, disabled and abandoned
they poked out from
a pile of dusty pine needles
useless
and for some nonsensical reason,
I placed them in a zip lock bag,
as if they were a fragile cocoon
about to become a flying beauty
or a courtroom DNA sample
from a murder scene.
There’s no understanding,
most times,
as to why I do the things I do,
save the things I save,
but things, like people,
have their stories.
and if these battered,
one-eyed sunglasses could talk,
I bet they’d say more
than what they were good for,
on a sunny day in the park

Jean E. Taddonio

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Purging

Mixing in the muck
of memory debris
she sorts through feelings
giving them names
frames them in new ways
though they still weigh
heavy with silence
like sunken skipping stones
seeking new homes
and the chance
to play another day
upon the water ways
of memory debris (c) Jean E. Taddonio

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Remnants of the Rain

via Remnants of the Rain

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