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Sally's love, light, and inspiration for her beautiful poems....Dhylan

I Would Still Choose You
People have asked me what I would do
if I had the choice to change or cure you,
And often in times of worry or pain
I listen to that question, rebound in my brain.

I think of the days when you drive me to tears,
and how the future brings all sorts of fears,
Yesterday you wiped your nose on the
teachers's sleeve and what you did next
was hard to believe.

You took my best marker and drew on the wall
then ran outside naked, kicking a ball, You cried
when I told you, it was time for bed went kicking
and screaming and banging your head

This morning when the bus came, you would
not get on because there was a teacher, who was
the wrong one.At school they told me you bit a
small boy and smeared all your food with a
faceful of joy.

All night you were up, afraid of the dark,
in the morning you wanted to go to the park,
you tested my patience when you hit your
brother and said a bad word to your sweet
Grandmother.

At dinner you ate one chip and some fries
of course that should not be such a surprise,
From day one, you were picky
about what you would eat and
you never ate anything
like veggies or meat.

In the bathtub tonight you took soap and shampoo
got lost in the bubbles that hid you from view.
then you dumped all the water onto the floor
and cried when I told you, there would be no more!

But................................................................

When I look at you sleeping.I think and I muse
knowing there is no other, that I could choose
when they ask me that question of what I would do.
you know my sweet darling, it would always be you!!

c. Sally Meyer 1999

The Rain Child
They never told me he was a Rain child
that morning when I sang my newborn songs

I didn't know that he was different
when I brought him home five million years ago

I raised him two long years before I realized
saw in his eyes, that he was different,

I always wondered how I would treat a Rain Child
if I would have the strength to raise a child like this.

The Rain Child dances through his rainbow hours
to a melody we have yet to understand

His eyes so grey, and so unyielding
reflect the innocence and joy he hides within.

At times I envy my little Rain Child
and want to share the magic that he owns

But then I weep, want to shelter him from the future
protect him from the storms that will surely come his way.

For now, the Rain child lives safe within our fortress
no hand can harm him, while we live and breathe.

But years from now, when blossoms fall upon our headstones
our gentle Rainchild, will have to find his way alone.

They never told me I would bear a Rainchild
he came so softly, no one heard his steps,

And in the softlight as I watch him sleeping
I pray for all the mothers so keenly blessed.

C. Sally Meyer1999

It's not your fault

Once, my little boy came to me, in a dream.
In the dream I was washing dishes
and I felt a tug on my skirts.
I turned slowly, like people usually
do in a dreamlike situation.
He was standing there, looking up at me
his grey eyes piercing me, as they usually did.
I knelt beside him, curious to see what he wanted.
And in a voice, I had not yet heard,
he spoke.
"It's not your fault" he said simply.

Then, he was gone, and I woke up suddenly.
I went to his bedside, and touched his hair.
He was sleeping so soundly, so I lifted him gently
moved him over a little and lay down beside him.
I felt his soft breathing, and listened to the silence.
The words he had spoken in my dream echoed
"It's not your fault!" And I rejoiced, and let go
of the anguish and guilt, I had wrestled with
from the moment I had found out he was autistic.

And now, when I walk with him, I hold my head high
"it's not my fault" , he told me so.

c. Sally 1999
Autism is not the end of the World. . . . just
the beginning of a new one.


In my Garden

I wandered thru my garden
on a lovely summers day
gazing at the beauty
of the flowers in full array.

The snapdragon so colorful
the poppy red and bold
I reached to touch the sunflower
with her petals of yellow gold.

In the garden I saw the lily,
so white and ever pure
the marigold so hardy
and the petunias galore.

Yet by the garden wall
there stood, my lovely velvet rose
Her beauty more magnificent
than any that I chose.

Her colors were so delicate
her scent a pure delight
I never saw the thorns she bore
too late, I felt the bite.

I jumped back for a moment
I couldn't understand why
a flower so soft and lovely
could hurt, and make me cry.

But still her beauty captured me
and once again I tried,
but this time I was careful
not to touch the bitter side.

In the garden of the children
there are beauties everywhere
the delicate and pretty
and the ones with charm so rare.

There are those who will grow stronger
in the pleasant summer sun
there are some that fade and wither
despite love from everyone.

But the rarest of the children
are the ones who bear the thorn
the children who will struggle
from the day that they are born,

But they also bear the beauty
of the soft and gentle rose
their scent is oft most bittersweet
and this is the child, I chose.

And reaching out to touch him
I felt his prickle there
but once again I stretched my hand
and found the beauty rare.

In the garden of the children
where they grow so wild and free,
I picked the one who has a price
and found the one for me.

C. 1999 Sally Meyer.


Joined

In the classroom
the children
gathered in
a circle, on the floor
to listen to
a story.
I sat behind my
son, let him
rest his head
on my lap as
he listened.
He fidgeted,
for a few minutes
then looking down
at his tummy
he pointed
to his belly button.
"Where's my
cord? "
he asked, innocently.
"I want it
back"
I held back
the laughter,
his teachers
smiled.
Knowing that
only he could
ask such
an amusing
question.
Knowing that
he expected an
answer.
I told him
Daddy had cut
the cord,
when he was born,
that the cord
was gone,
and all that was
left was his
little belly button.
I told him
there was a cord
though,
but it was invisible
it tied him
to us.
from his heart
to ours.
He smiled
then, content
for the moment.
Went back
to listening
to the story.
In a classroom
of children
just like himself.
Children
whose lives
are forever
joined,
by an invisible
cord.
To the hearts
of those
that love them.



C. Sally Meyer 1999.
Autism is not the end of the World. . . . just
the beginning of a new one.

copyright. 1999. Sally Meyer

The Mantle of Motherhood
I am a woman who bears the name of Mother. I have worn the mantle of Motherhood for many years, wrapping myself in her warmth, enjoying the comfort and joy it brings.

This mantle or cloak, has been good to me over the years.When sorrow came, I was not prepared! She ripped off my cloak. . .tearing it into many pieces throwing them in my face.

I thought I knew the cloak of motherhood, thought that because I had been sheltered and protected for so many years, it would shield me from any storm. I was wrong.

My eighth child was a son, because I was forty two when I became pregnant, I thought something might go wrong, that the possibility of his having a disability was quite possible. But when they handed this wet bundle of arms and legs, and laid him beside me, I counted each little finger, kissed each toe. I rejoiced in his perfection, his beauty, his being.

I snuggled deep into the folds of my cloak of motherhood, enjoying the simple joy it brought me. I was whole. As he grew he became more beautiful, his curly hair framing an enchanting face. His laughter so merry, his delight my own. He found a piece of my heart not yet taken, latched on tight and claimed it for himself.

A cold wind blew into our lives. This child of ours began to withdraw, his smile fade, his laughter ceased. He retreated from the people who loved him best. After months of worry, sorrow and fear, a name was whispered in the stillness of a doctors office. A name for the monster who had stolen my child . . .Autism.

Picking up the torn pieces of my mantle, I stitched it together with sharp needles of pain and anguish, that caused my fingers to bleed. I wept over this child that no one knew, screamed his name in the night, whispered it at dawn.

Then shrouding myself in my weathered mantle, I went away for a while. departing into a journey of self pity and despair. In the darkness of night I wept, wiping my tears on my shredded cloak. I turned from the child who dwelled in his own private fortress. I, his mother was unable to scale the walls or find a key to set him free. I hid myself in the shadows of misery. . .I could not find him . . .I could not find myself.

One night I crept into his room, and gathering him into my arms I held him close, brushing back those damp curls that framed his face. As he slept, I sang to him, songs I had sung to my other children, melodies that I had yet to sing to him. As I continued my soft serenade I realized that he was still the beautiful little boy I once knew, I saw in his sleeping face an innocence that would not flee at dawns light. How peaceful is my son who has no care. He smiles at rainbows I can never see. He dances to a tune too sweet for me to hear. He knows no yesterday, nor does he look to tomorrow, he savors each moment as they come. He knows no hate, no guilt, no sorrow. I envy him.

His face shines with the glow of the innocent, his eyes sparkle with the joy of the carefree. How peaceful is my son who has no cares, how blessed because in him we share.

In the peaceful solitude of night, I gently opened my tattered mantle of motherhood, drawing him close to me, and wrapping us both in a new cloak. A blanket of my own making, and together we waited for the sun to rise.... to bring whatever it may.

And no matter what life sends us, we will face it together, for I am a woman, who bears the name of Mother.

copyright 1999 Sally Meyer.

Each Child is yours........each child is mine

I saw a little boy on a busy street,
he was not mine.....but
his small face was puckered
and his tears made streaks
down his dirty little face.
Somehow he had fallen, skinned his knees
and now he sat crying, on the city sidewalk.
People passed him by, he wasn't their child
nor was he mine, and I too passed him by.
But, something tugged at me
and I turned.. went back...and knelt beside him.
I wiped away his tears, kissed that little cheek,
and helping him to his feet, I walked him home.
His Mother was looking for him, and when she saw him,
she ran to gather him in her arms, kissed him, held him close.
She touched me gently, and thanked me with her eyes.
How worried she had been, how fearful,
for her little boy had been lost,
and this was her child, I had found.

Later that day the telephone rang
my little girl had wandered away from school,
She does that sometimes, for she is no ordinary child.
She knows no boundaries, nor does she heed danger,
she chases rainbows, and runs to catch the golden specks of dust.
that reflect the sunlight.
She follows her heart, and forgets to listen.
She dances in her world, and bumps against mine.
The teacher's were frantic, the police were called.
I sat in the office, frozen with worry and fear.
Where could she be? Whose arms held her safe?
where was my beautiful girl with the soulful eyes?
I ran out of the school, searching the streets...
in the distance I saw a woman, her face strangely familiar.
and by her side, was my daughter holding hands with her son,
that same little boy with the tearstained face and the skinned knees.
I ran to hold my daughter close, to hug her and kiss her small face.
Turning to the Mother, I thanked her with my eyes,
How worried I had been, how fearful
for this was my daughter, so priceless and treasured
this was my child. she had found.

Each child is mine
Each child is yours
I will love your child
you will cherish mine.
If your child his crying . . .
I will wipe his tears.
If my child is lost. . .
you will calm her fears.
Each child is yours,
each child is mine,
Put your hand in theirs,
put your hand in mine.

C. Sally Meyer1999


In twenty years.

I went to the grocery store
this weekend,
hurrying to buy snacks
for a trip.
I noticed a grown up man
and knew he
was special.
He had no physical
signs to tell me this
but there was something
it could have been the innocence
in his eyes,
or the way he shuffled after
his Mom, like a chick
under it's mother's wing.
I smiled at him,
stopped to say hello
for in him I saw my own son
twenty years from now.
He beamed, his face
full of joy, his eyes sparkling
"We got gas today, we got gas at the gas station"
he proudly told me.
I smiled and told him
that was really neat.
His mother turned to him
and grabbing his arm
she thumped him and harshly said
"We got gas yesterday!, now stand here
and shut up"
This man, this child, taller than she
looked into my eyes,
crestfallen.
I smiled again, trying to show
him, he was okay.
trying to let him know I cared
that he got gas, at the gas station
I winked at him,
and with a smile
he winked back.
His Mom, had her back turned
looking at the canned tomatoes
She did not see, how cute her son was.
I turned with my own
man child, sitting in the cart
walked down the aisle
and kissed the top of his head.
He turned to me and said
"Mom, how many Uncles do I have?
what are their names, and where do they live?"
It was the umpteenth time that day,
but I didnt care,
I wonder if the years will cause
me to become so tired, so careworn
as this mother was.
I wonder if the constant questions
will make me grumpy, and impatient
how many times in twenty years
will I answer him, will I teach him?
As we drove away, I saw him again
in the parking lot
following his mother, his eyes downcast
shuffling behind her,
and I said a prayer
for the man child
his mother
and me.

Copyright 1999. Sally Meyer.
Autism is not the end of the World. . . . just
the beginning of a new one.


My Side Of The Fence

You've heard the expression
the grass is always greener
on the other side of the fence.

It's true, I know because once
I climbed up and peeked over
and it was greener . . . it was beautiful.

And once I climbed on top of the fence
and sat there, watching the people
on the other side.

They had such a contented look
on their faces, complacent almost
as if life was supposed to be that way.

As I climbed back down to my side of the fence
I noticed that the people on this side
wore a different look, a look I understood.

On my side of the fence, I feel at home
it's not perfect here the grass is sparse and
there are rocks that pop up out of nowhere.

But I guess it's because I know I belong here
why it feels so familiar. I dont have to go far
to find a friendly smile or a gentle hug.

We all understand each other on my side of the fence
we didn't choose to be on this side, but we
know that even though life here is hard, we will survive.

We know that sometimes we might peek over the fence
and wish that we were on that greener plusher side
but then we feel a little hand tugging at our heels, and we return.

When we hear the laughter from the other side,
it sounds so beautiful, but then we remember that sorrow and joy
go hand in hand, we cannot truly appreciate one without the other.

Sometimes when it's dark and I feel the pain of living
on this side of the fence. I realize that in the dark, there is no
difference. We all look to the light, no matter which side we are on.

They say that the grass is greener on the other side,
and that is definitely true. But there are joys on my side of the fence
and I want to enjoy them without having to stop, to mow the lawn.

Autism is not the end of the World. . . . just
the beginning of a different one..
copyright. 1999. Sally Meyer

Sally Meyer's Poems page three

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