Discovering the World of Sally Kilgore
Presence
At 7 a.m. the world seems quiet.
But if you listen here
you will hear a soft thud, just one.
Then another.
A quiet voice carries in the air.
Thus we begin our days together
the unknown dark men and I.
These mornings I don’t drift through my home
in my usual state.
Wide kitchen windows open me up
to the neighborhood being constructed
and its builders.
While houses are being framed,
the roofs shingled,
empty lots trenched,
I don a gown for mornings.
These men toil long days
far beyond twelve hours,
under blazing sun and waves of heat,
wind that in the morning moves warm air.
As early light brightens,
voices call across the yards.
The heavy pooffft of air hammers,
ringing of metal hitting metal,
and music begins to play.
Latino tunes liven the days.
Voices join the singing
in raucous chorus.
Sometimes but one strong voice.
At least once each day
a loud cheer will fill the air
slipping through the closed door.
I smile.
These men with dark eyes
that do not meet mine.
When I drive with care through the zone,
I keep my head up to catch an eye
raise my hand in a wave.
Yesterday we stepped outdoors
to position flashy pink flamingoes on the front lawn,
a yearly tradition of celebration.
As my husband pushed the wire legs into the soil
I glanced up.
I saw a brown man watching
atop a roof across the street
he smiled, then laughed and waved.
We did the same
sharing that foolish moment.
These men sweat and toil
on my street
building a community that will surround me
I honor their work.
I honor their hours.
I honor their presence here.
Sally A. Kilgore
24 June 2021 - Rev 13 July 2025
and here
Amidst these rocky days with crackling air
threatened by the looming dark sky
the sun came out ironically
yesterday and glorious crisp air
briefly heartened by a mirage
of bright autumn vibrance
I looked from my window
as a thousand days before
my eyes drawn to two butterflies
sipping at the posies of Abelia
wobbly in their fluttering
migration has been a beating
We will all be wobbly now
I wonder when late autumn chill
has depleted what remains
of the blooming in the garden
will the glory return with the spring
or give up and remain buried deep beneath
I kept myself to myself
because I could not process
what was happening within
stunned by dread of what
would now become
in a world that has spun away
Sleep hid far from me
until the wee morning hours
my head is filled with boulders
my whole self longs to crawl back under
I am here
preparing to face the world
There’s not much choice
other than giving up the fight
my spirit is heavy my soul stressed.
I will move through the bleak thick gray
threatening my hopes and ideals
I swear my light will shine
I promise to seek the stars.
Sally A. Kilgore
7 November 2024
SHE IS
She is light
She is acceptance
She is warmth
She cares for herself
She lingers
lost in images
walking through dreams
The pilgrimage her own
apologies no longer
no explanations
She gives
of special morsels
tucked deep in a soft pouch
of her heart
She finds there is more
even when she believes
she has depleted the supply
She is not the princess
She is the earth in her hands
the soil she digs
the compost she mixes in
She is the plant she pats
gently in the ground
whispering reassurance
the beauty that develops
She is the sweat
that pours from her face
the cooling water streaming
from the hose
She simply is.
Sally Kilgore
2022 February
Prose or Poetry?
Derived from my writing intention
on a particular day:
Clear Fresh Bright Clarity of Self