Unconscious gestures
have voices
the way the corner of a
mouth turns up slightly
when reading something
deep, audible sighs
foot tapping, finger drumming,
forehead rubbing
finger flicking, hair twirling,
shifting eyes and quick
glances, blank looks
and eye rolling, avoiding
eye contact
Silences speak too,
as does speaking too
rapidly or too excitedly
Downcast looks with
bent heads; bodies that
turn into themselves
have the loudest voices
Bright eyes that seem
to smile easily
Moving closer, longing
glances and rapid blinking

Unconscious gestures
have a language more
truthful than words
It’s universal; no
interpretations required
The body is the purveyor
of truth.

© Brenda-Lee Ranta 2020


of the inner life
and outer life
changing colours
to fit, to conform
to given environment

The greatest
victory of the
human experience is
the ability to merge
both the true inner
thoughts and state
of being while
admitting to
to conformity

Truly, it is the most
profound failing of
Our human nature
that we should remain
hidden behind our
true selves and
real thoughts

Truly, it is in
our journey
to becoming
authentic, that
we shall finally
be made whole.
Anything less
insults the soul
and our purpose
for living this
human experience.

© Brenda-Lee Ranta 2020

For Us

She understood this love;
as natural as a heartbeat
With every breath, another
awaits to give new life,
awakening to our
journey; a foundation
created in complete
surrender to our every
flaw, fracture, misstep;
still perfectly bound
in a white light of
boundless perfection

She understood that even in
silence there is a symphony
of heart sounds made only
for them,
by them,
through them
Together they are natural,
simple, yet simultaneously
complex; for they have been
bound for a thousand years,
alive in each single moment

She understood this love
to be infinite and pure in
its inception and conception
There be never a moment
without gratitude for the
knowing of it; never to leave
Her heart, her soul, her mind.

Through every year,
they bless each other
for the sanctity of it.
Through every year
they have been made
further whole by it.

© Brenda-Lee Ranta 2019

In Memorium

I’ve procrastinated this year. The winter clothes have been plunged among my summer garb; the forgotten, never worn garments, still hanging with tags for an event that never occurred and the ‘what was I thinking’ dress. There are also the hopeful jeans that still don’t fit, the too young tops, too cute to part with.

There is a blouse I wore when I spent a day teary and blowing my nose, a bathing suit cover up that never did see a beach, my favorite cut-off shorts that I wear at home, myriad leggings that have become
my crazy everyday uniform.

Then there are beautiful sweater jackets hanging, worn maybe twice before I retired; an eternal epitaph to my business wear, along with my collection of skirts in varying shades of greys and black; for all
occasions; except for the ones I don’t have anymore. Finally, there are the panic clothes. The pieces I bought to make myself feel better on a hard day, in colours that make my skin look old, yellow and tired.

However, I still fondly reach for one of my well-worn black cardigans; my second- skin friends that I always find on the backs of chairs all over my home, as a salute to my hot flashes that never really stopped coming.

My wardrobe hangs as a museum of my life; that life and following that life; and my present life. It is hard to sort through my clothes this year. I’ll do it when I’m ready to say goodbye to a chronology of my life.

© Brenda-Lee Ranta 2019