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    A Tattered Map’S Tale
    A Tattered Map’S Tale
    A Tattered Map’S Tale
    Ebook128 pages52 minutes

    A Tattered Map’S Tale

    By Jennifer L. Bruursema

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    About this ebook

    This collection of poems and prose illustrates a mosaic of crisscrossed time zones, personalities interrupted, and moments reflected. In between the doorways of bedrooms, the billowing gusts of brewing storms, and the endless queues of boarding lines, the author takes the reader on a journey of experiences that make up the human condition. Passion, regret, remorse, intrigue and innocence all poke through the surface of these verses. Whether each as a standalone, or combined as a mural, the poems in A Tattered Maps Tale string together like prayer flags at the base of a mountain, begging one to pause and consider love, latitudes and language differently than before.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAuthorHouse
    Release dateJan 16, 2013
    ISBN9781481700412
    A Tattered Map’S Tale
    Author

    Jennifer L. Bruursema

    A little about me I have been writing a long time. And up to now, I have shared this part of my life with only those who I felt could safely hold my secret. But 12 months ago, I was seated across the table from a dear friend and fellow writer who wondered … “maybe your writing is not just for you, maybe it’s for those whose voice awaits words?” For the first time, I actually believed that perhaps all these whispers, mumbles, screams, purrs, sobs, giggles and sighs might have a place outside of my blinking screen and dusty mailbox. So, here you have me and a hundred or so moments that might be you, too. If one of them find their way in, let me know. It’s good to feel the power of two. It’s good to feel you’re not alone. It’s good to feel the light. On Facebook, Linkedin, Skype On Gmail: bruursemajennifer0@gmail.com

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      Book preview

      A Tattered Map’S Tale - Jennifer L. Bruursema

      © 2013 by Jennifer L. Bruursema. All rights reserved.

      No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

      Published by AuthorHouse 01/14/2013

      ISBN: 978-1-4817-0052-8 (sc)

      ISBN: 978-1-4817-0053-5 (hc)

      ISBN: 978-1-4817-0041-2 (e)

      Library of Congress Control Number: 2012923826

      Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

      Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

      This book is printed on acid-free paper.

      Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Because I believed you

      Chapter 2

      Natural instincts

      Chapter 3.

      A daughter to a mother

      Chapter 4.

      All things living

      Chapter 5.

      It’s here, it’s yours

      Chapter 6.

      Jet lag

      Chapter 7

      Don’t look back

      Dedication

      For each one of you who have inspired these tales, I am thankful.

      The joy you shared with me, the sunrise you awoke me to, I am thankful.

      Even when it hurt, and even when you walked away, I learned to be thankful.

      For each of you, this collection is my song.

      Each verse a stanza, each melody an acknowledgement of what you brought to my life, what you continue to bring to my life.

      I am more with all of your love.

      For those I have yet to know, meet or hold a hand, I hope that these words provide an introduction.

      Image%201.tif

      Chapter 1

      Because I believed you

      Image%203.tif

      He’s in the desert now

      He always liked the piles of boulders and the squat trees.

      How they clung to the Earth but clumsily interrupted the eye’s horizon.

      I suspect it’s where he’ll stay, in this sacred space.

      Cobbling together his weary parts, he’ll spend decades there.

      Until the bits of him all fit together, he’ll fiddle tirelessly with word, wrench, guitar string and kite string.

      His sons will stop by from year to year, ask him how he’s doing.

      He’ll tell them the same lie, but they’ll drive away content.

      And that’s more important, he’ll mutter to himself, that they’re happy.

      His daughter will make him meet her at the diner 40 miles away.

      She worries about him now, but her own two kids, husband and job, well, you know.

      She will, inevitably, make him smile, though, like only daddy’s eternal little girl can.

      Visits from friends will be few. It won’t matter.

      He will visit a place at the bottom of a big stone each week.

      Tuesdays, that’s the quieter day in the park.

      He’ll lean at the base of the granite, and he’ll tell that rock about the cobbling.

      There will be no dialogue, just a man saying what it’s in his chest, in his gut.

      A wind’s dance off the desert floor will provoke the occasional question.

      I expect he’ll answer that wind with the four same words he etched into his arm when he walked away from everything so long ago . . . Because I loved her.

      Stone heart

      I held you in my hands today.

      Your skin, smooth; mottled like granite, with flecks of jade, burgundy and slate.

      You were cool to the touch.

      I cradled your will and courage.

      I deflected others’ contempt and frustration.

      Your weight imprinted my grasp.

      But your love bled through my palms before I could whisper, thank you.

      The archer

      You had a quiver full arrows.

      I was a willing target.

      Your aim, perfect.

      I’m barely standing, bleeding you out.

      Drop by drop, you’re all I can see, all I can feel.

      You leave my body as a rushing motion.

      I am your thoughts, your love.

      I’m staining the ground beneath me.

      I am fading, your benevolent victim, your victory.

      Place

      I miss you

      I wish you’d let me say it

      I know my place

      I know

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