You are Hiding

I dedicate this poem to my fellow women, with hope. Never forget that the light of the world dwells in us and we can use it to challenge the darkness.
 
God bless,
Morgan
 
“You are Hiding”
 
You are hiding.
I know this because when you were a girl
you were a blossom of creativity, a lively brook of dreams.
You spun worlds out of color and endless ideas.
 
Your path to your full potential
did not last.
You listened to fear’s senseless whisper, you dropped your flame.
Though your talent bleeds like sunrise through your skin
you covered yourself in cloaks and learned to shuffle in gray shoes.
 
You are hiding.
I watch you at arm’s length, unsure what I could say
to help you throw off the muted world you wear.
The best I come to is this:
Do not fear what you could be.
Fight for it. Love it. Love yourself.
Loving yourself is a risk, for all love is dangerous,
but all love comes from God and therefore it can look deeper,
touch our tender bones, and bring out the joy that birthed creation.
We are bearers of future.
Do not hide.
 
I am waiting.
You know this because I stand nearby
never ready to give up my hope,
sister, mother, daughter, woman.
 
 
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You are Hiding by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Reminders

This is a poem for my mom, who taught me so much about what love is. This was written for Mother’s Day the year she moved to Arizona.
God bless,
Morgan
 
“Reminders”
 
as you step onto the desert way,
you leave lessons
like painted handmade beads
I string into deepest memory.
 
They are reminders:
to love all the people around me,
no matter what they look like
or who they are,
to keep an open home,
dig deep roots of faith,
fear no doubts,
always ask questions
and know where
to look up the answers,
to ask forgiveness
and to give it,
find good stories
and live them,
be myself,
strive for my dreams,
seek adventure,
keep learning, and
to stand up,
stand strong.
 
The spun threads through each
reminder gleam timeless silver:
your pride in me
your welcoming arms
your overflowing love
 
 
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Reminders by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Wings Will Come: Journey – Part 14 “The house will fill again”

This poem is about the first day my brother and I were alone in the family house, which we would be renting from our parents as they moved to Arizona. It was a surreal day, but we promised ourselves that however empty the house felt now, we would work to fill it with the same love and hospitality that our parents had in their many years there. Sometimes God asks us to stay behind to be the new light.
 
Next week, I conclude the story of my family’s move and God’s goodness in the change in the fifteenth poem of my collection, “Wings Will Come: Journey.”
 
God bless,
Morgan
 
“The house will fill again”
The first day
 
hello, empty house.
we do not want to face you yet
but here we are.
 
we come back from the airport
confused, just waiting
to see Dad at his office desk
working too early already
or Mom bent over her sewing machine.
every hour is another rain shower,
but we push through.
 
we build and move,
and pray and learn.
 
the house will fill again.
 
together, brother to sister,
we promise that we will
keep the invisible spirit of the house
alive: open doors and safe haven,
a legacy of hospitality our family
embedded into the foundation
of our house and our hearts.
 
Come to the nest
where we keep safe
as we learn our wings.
 
 
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The house will fill again by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Wings Will Come: Journey – Part 13 “Traveling Bard”

My mom was the last of my family to move out west to Arizona. As the number of days to her departure dwindled, we spent time together reading, watching, and discussing old favorite stories. My mom has always been a woman of stories, and she instilled that same love in my brother and me. Through books and movies in the last week, we found strength in cherished memories and encouragement in the tales that had shaped our imaginations and philosophies since childhood. In these hours, I believe God helped ground us in familiarity and then gave us the grace to turn to the next chapters.
 
To catch up for the past few weeks, I will be posting several poems of the collection in short succession. Look for the fourteenth poem of my collection, “Wings Will Come: Journey.”
 
God bless,
Morgan
 
 
“Traveling Bard”
To Mom
 
you and I have been reading
a story together while you
flood recipe cards with ink.
we sit amidst boxes, boxes, boxes
and share a tale of hellos and goodbyes.
 
you, my brother, and I have been watching
one of our favorite old films of action, wit,
and adventure while we huddle together
remembering decades of our everyday journeys
that have tested our courage to the quick.
 
you, my brother, your soul-sister, and I have been playing
a trivia game that dredges up details from one of the oldest
stories that unites us: one of a long way forward
to great change. before it is over, we four
crowd in the dark around a TV screen to see a preview
of a new start to another cherished story that we’ll see completed
from different corners of the earth.
 
you have been a storyteller to me
since I had ears to hear.
you are off to be a traveling bard
while I keep by the fireside
until sun comes and I go
to live out the lessons nestled in
your tales.
 
 
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Traveling Bard by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Wings Will Come: Journey – Part 9 “Refuge”

Amidst the challenges and scurry of moving my parents and grandfather out to Arizona, another blow struck our family. My grandmother had cancer. New pressures and worries poured on top of our pile of concerns, but my mom was quick to call out the blessing in the whirlwind: that she would be moving out to join her mother in Arizona at a time when her mother needed her the most.
 
I do not believe God orchestrates every happening in our world, but I do believe that when we listen to His call, He pulls us toward paths where we can help others in ways we never imagined.
 
Next week, I continue the story of my family’s move and God’s goodness in the change in the tenth poem of my collection, “Wings Will Come: Journey.”
 
God bless,
Morgan
 
 
“Refuge”
News of cancer
 
the news is cannon fire:
I hear the explosion
distantly, watch the shot
coming toward me but still
feel the hard shock of the impact,
and I fall in the rubble
of the ordinary.
 
in the talk of diagnoses,
next steps, surgery, and treatments
for your mother out west, who has been
excitedly waiting for your arrival,
you ask aloud: why?
but you are brave and steadfast
no matter that our outer walls
have taken blows tonight.
You pause to say: it is good we will
be there.
 
I don’t understand the Lord’s timing,
nor the whys of the world,
but I know He moves us
where He needs us, if we will go.
 
we stand back up,
face ahead, and wave
an ever-bold banner.
this far in, we know
He keeps our walls.
 
 
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Refuge by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

Wings Will Come: Journey – Part 4 “For now”

My mom started packing as soon as my dad accepted the job offer that would take my parents and my grandfather across the country to Arizona. The transition from the old status quo of the house to “Box World” was a constant reminder of the change happening around me, and it retaught me a lesson I thought I’d known: the home with which God blessed me is not in the building, but in the people by whom I have always been surrounded with love and grace.
 
Next week, I continue the story of my family’s move and God’s goodness in the change in the fifth poem of my collection, “Wings Will Come: Journey.”
 
God bless,
Morgan
 
“For now”
To Mom
 
each time I step
into another room of the house,
another familiar piece is
missing. your hands move quickly,
snatching the clutter of knick-knacks
off shelves and tabletops. When I blink,
the statues and ornaments and little
pictures have vanished into packing paper
and cardboard boxes.
 
it is this piecemeal transition that tricks me.
I prop up yet on
my heart in an open locket I know
I’ll have to give away someday.
 
as the boxes pile higher over the furniture,
shadowing windows and the old ways,
I realize no knick-knack matters,
the boxes become the new familiar
because it is you and your love and
generosity that fill the house,
covering boxes and empty shelves.
you are still home
for now.
 
 
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For now by Morgan Prettyman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.