Some come wrapped,
Some are not ,
Some are a memory,
A warm laugh,
The kind of warmth from the love bestowed upon you by a kittens touch,
Some gifts are moments frozen,
Time stollen,
Caught in Iowa’s rag ride,
A compact from Tumu with words etched by others hand,
Tears that fall when my thoughts touch a cord,
I will never stop strangers that feel their world is falling apart at its seems,in the Walmart parking lot,
I will never offer my home to another’s cats,bird or turtle,(this isn’t true my home will always shelter those in need of it.)
The first time I was invited in she offered me my upstairs if I needed it,
When she needed a home I offered her to share my home,
She chose a motel that’s crap,
Alone is not a gift though full of time,
Time is momentless,(a lesbian poet’s word),
A moment is a bursting forth of memory,
A file secretly kept in this writers journal,
Following in my cart behind the gift given not by her but by the universe,
The gift of a sister not a friend,
Pity me she never saw the difference,
Neither did my blood sisters,
The gift has no form,
The substance it has to far to precious for a box,
Irreplaceable,
like driving to Waterloo or Cedar Rapids or Dubuque ,
Val Whitewolf 