Seasons of the Heart
scattered leaves
are like memories
of the past
Ellen
the window's jammed
. . . the wind is cold
Cheri
autumn chill
reminds of sparrows
and the Lord providing
Sarah
Grandma always said
“The Lord is good to us”
Diana
man in the moon
my grandpa
looks down
Ellen
typewriter clicking
I keep myself awake
Sarah
•
I try to finish
a letter—
but I'm out of ink.
Cheri
tear-stained paper
I'm in love
Diana
lilac scent
he leaves me a note
in my Bible
Sarah
door framed in sticky notes
like little blessings
Ellen
as spring thaws,
grandma's eyes have lost
their usual frosty look
Cheri
warm bread
held like a baby
Sarah
•
a moonlit dance
the oven’s warmth
enveloping the couple
Diana
his kiss
steals my every breath
Ellen
he has the same love
for our children . . .
I smile
Cheri
“look, mom”
her tooth, finally loose!
Sarah
little girl’s smile
petal-soft cheeks
are like fresh blossoms
Diana
holding her child
I wonder at the mother I'll be
Ellen
•
so thankful—
daughters are all
grown up
Cheri
worn, dented wood
the hope chest
Sarah
I held my breath
tying the knot
twice
Diana
“too young to be in love,”
they said
Ellen
praying for her girls,
she looks at her husband
. . . asleep
Cheri
summer's eve game
I’ll pitch
Sarah
•
automatic tee-ball shooter:
hilarity
in one swell product
Diana
toes in the grass
ready to run
Ellen
my heart is so full
from watching them
all play, together
Cheri
dinner time
then back to the tickle-fight
Sarah
too much fun
why does the moon
keep showing up?
Diana
in each other's arms
we plan a future
Ellen
•
summer vacation
looms—
let’s get out of here!
Cheri
mom’s garden
her heart's home place
Sarah
driving home
alone
remembering the arguments
Diana
frost on the window
I write “Jesus loves you”
Ellen
the sunrise on the snow
is the color of
cherry blossoms
Cheri
a wish for mom
like a parting glance
Sarah
• • •
This Kasen-Renga was written by myself and my sister, and my mother and her sister, my aunt. Their maiden name was Anker. Since my sister and I take after my mother's side, when we are all together, we often refer to ourselves as the “Anker girls.”— Sarah E. Kisly