Dragon Hunter
By Michelle Garren Flye
Crows call Mom! in midnight voices
But I ignore them, though they could be right
I’ve never done a DNA test
A cowboy in flipflops
I take to the street, hunting dragons
Elusive, strange, wonderful beasts
Slice through the air on wings of glass
Cut my cheek
That will leave a brave mark
But I fired first
It’s captured behind my lens
And I march on
hope
by michelle garren flye
just when all is lost and
the warriors are all gone
leaving dust and bones
swirling at my feet
“look here” you whisper
and I turn to find a rainbow
arching over ruins
as if growing from death
it sparkles like magic
made from diamond tears
wept by poets for politicians
abandoned in the quagmire
it’s a gentle misdirection
and I a willing participant
in your ongoing seduction
of whispered promises
I surrender to your will
surely nothing can be needed
when hope springs from death
and arcs over destruction
surely this is a sign—
the one we’ve waited for
that life will be better soon
that there’s always hope
The Death of a Thousand Cuts
By Michelle Garren Flye
She’s whole, pure, beautiful
When she steps out into the world,
And the first cut is kind of pitiful—
She barely notes the blood pearl.
The second comes out of nowhere—
Perhaps from the company she keeps?
She bandages it up with great care,
But no one hears when she weeps.
Third, fourth and fifth go deeper—
Needing more than a few stitches.
She covers them with a sweater
And cries until her breath hitches.
By the twentieth, she’s beyond care.
The blood splotches the floor in drips.
She armors herself to prepare
For the constant onslaught of whips.
She’ll go on and on and on
Into a world full of attacks.
She feels like an automaton,
Just surviving all the whacks.
A hundred, two hundred, more
And the armor barely dulls
The sting of each strike before
Silence falls in the rarest of lulls.
She wonders what each blow takes.
Is it blood or faith that she bleeds?
God, religion, nation—each forsakes
And their call she no longer heeds.
It’s cruel what life does to you—
How it parades and poses and struts.
In the end it’ll take you, it’s true,
By the death of a thousand cuts.
Aging Grace
By Michelle Garren Flye
How is it that nature ages in grace?
How does the flower hold its charm?
Why does the gardenia smell as nice
When age has yellowed its form?
When the rose drops its petals
It reveals its splendid heart.
The darkened magnolia settles
To death with a very gentle art.
Oh why cannot we learn nature’s ways
Of passing quietly one season or four?
Instead we count and number the days
As if we are keeping score.
I hope we learn this skill as we grow older,
So in the end, we know how to be golder.
Photo by Michelle Garren Flye
Why He Knelt (for Colin)
By Michelle Garren Flye
A man kneels in a green field.
Father, help me find the way
To fight the power they wield,
To make them know what they
Don’t fathom: simply why I kneeled.
Years pass and he is condemned
To life, but not on the stage he sought.
Until the news is overwhelmed
By the injustices he warned about—
And we recall what he did contend.
Kneeling at work seems little enough
When you look at the news today.
His gentle defiance is practically fluff
And a much less destructive way.
(Ignored injustice can get rough.)
What can you do now, you plead.
What service can you provide?
Listen to what they cry and heed—
It may be time to take a side,
And in the black earth, plant the seed.
And if all else fails to satisfy
To your knees you should fall.
The act we can’t expect to justify,
But what we can do is simply all
Kneel and know exactly why.
Rain and Shine
By Michelle Garren Flye
When did it rain?
I never heard thunder
Or wind or raindrops.
When did they fall?
It must have happened
Behind the scenes
While we were busy
Doing something else.
Something important.
Raising kids, living life,
Paying bills…surviving.
I didn’t know it rained.
Just like so many other
Things have happened
In the background.
It’s funny how you start:
Focused on each other,
Certain nothing will change.
But then it does.
Work and family and life
All change you.
And rain falls unnoticed
Until you see the puddles,
And then you notice the wet
And open an umbrella.
Only then do I see
A gardenia has bloomed.
Sometime in the night
It burst from the bud
In pure and splendid beauty.
Would it have bloomed
If the rain hadn’t come?
If we’d watched all day
In the sun, would it appear?
I don’t even know if it matters.
Drops of rain cling to the petals,
Magnifiying a single ray of sun.
Today is, in a very real way, a very big day for me. It’s my 25th wedding anniversary and the day I officially release my 18th book.
Thank you.
It’s hard to celebrate right now, as I have good reason to know. My 50th birthday fell right at the beginning of the Covid-19 crisis. My son and my daughter also have celebrated birthdays. Today I have no actual plans to celebrate. I once envisioned a busy day full of well wishing friends for both my book and my marriage. I mean, not as many people make it to their silver wedding anniversary as used to, right? And quite a few authors never see 18 books with their name on the front.
But celebrating is hard right now. People are still sick, still dying. I’m working hard to make sure I’m not one of them. I have nightmares that my family is. And life goes on.
And still, I am happy to announce the publication of my 18th book, Magic at Sea, the seventh book of my Sleight of Hand series (and still a standalone, so you can read it even if you haven’t kept up with the series!). And I am happier still to be married to the same wonderful man for twenty-five years. Rain or shine, we’ve had them both.
Rain or Shine
By Michelle Garren Flye
When did it rain?
I never heard thunder
Or wind or raindrops.
When did they fall?
It must have happened
Behind the scenes
While we were busy
Doing something else.
Something important.
Raising kids, living life,
Paying bills…surviving.
I didn’t know it rained.
Just like so many other
Things have happened
In the background.
It’s funny how you start:
Focused on each other,
Certain nothing will change.
But then it does.
Work and family and life
All change you.
And rain falls unnoticed
Until you see the puddles,
And then you notice the wet
And open an umbrella.
Wheee!
By Michelle Garren Flye
You test the top of the slide
And yell, “It’s slippery, Mommy!”
At first I think you’re scared to try,
But next thing I hear is “Wheee!”
I know how right you are.
Time is slippery, too, I think.
Each second echoes in my heart
But they pass within a wink.
My child, you’re growing too fast—
I know soon you’ll need to be free.
I feel I’m watching you slip past
And all I hear is “Wheee!”
Wisdom of the Baby Bird
By Michelle Garren Flye
Like an eagle or hawk soaring
We want to leap into the sky!
We don’t know what waits;
We just know we want to fly.
Hawks dive onto their prey,
Seagulls wheel above the sea,
Eagles may drift along drafts
Our senses cannot perceive.
Maybe turn our eyes instead
To the baby bird in the nest.
Standing precariously on the edge—
He’s waiting, not taking a rest.
Take a leap of faith—oh yes, let’s do!
But only when the time is right.
Stretch the wings out first—
Take a short practice flight.
Only then will we grow stronger,
Only then will we avoid a plunge
Headfirst into a maelstrom
Of dangers we cannot dodge.
I saw seagulls this morning. Though I live near the coast, I don’t see them often here. I’ve been longing to go to the beach, but it hasn’t happened in quite some time. These gulls reminded of one of the things I love about the beach. The freedom. I actually had my camera, but was so spellbound by their flight, I didn’t take any pictures. I’ll be sure and do that when I go to the beach for a week or two this summer.
Seagulls
By Michelle Garren Flye
I watch the seagulls wheel and sail,
Spitting their free cries into the sky.
What is it like to know so well
That feeling of being so high?
Oh, to spend all my time in flight,
To dance all day on summer breezes,
To fling myself with all main and might
Into heaven’s divine, feathery creases!
But I’m bound to earth’s filth
And know in my heart nothing
Will entice God to impart the skill
Of etching sky with tip of a wing.
BREATHE: Michelle Garren-Flye 