Hour 4: Goodbye, Two Weeks Shy

To have and to hold from this day forward In sickness and in health Two weeks shy …there’s an odd feeling of displacement in that In the midst of the grief Tears upon tears Rage at the universal unfairness of the universe Rage and tears…

2022 Poem Twelve

Vows (will insert a number later when I can count how many vows I have written)   From now until our obituary we will have each other. In sickeness and in health, tied together as one. I will rest when we are tired. Even if…

Grief

Tearstained eyes don’t cry any more. Cold numbness sets in, heavy heart weighs down a tired aching soul. Age doesn’t matter; the burden of sadness puts more years on than actual trips around the sun. One day to the next is unpredictable, steady resolve sometimes…

Rediscovery (An Acrostic, Hour Twenty)

  Rediscovery   Failure Is hard for me. Never do I Dare to accept or admit defeat. I‘m invincible, right? Not on your nelly! Grief has whooped My arse in Every way imaginable. A once in a lifetime love Gone forever. An eighteen plus year…

Dear PaPa (An Epistolary Poem, Hour 18)

Dear PaPa   Dear PaPa,   I’m sure you didn’t mean it, but you scarred me for life. When we were little children, we’d climb in the pickup with Daddy and drive to your house. You kept the pantry full of Little Debbie snacks, and…

How Could I Forget June the 9th (A Nonet…. Hour One)

 June the 9th (How Could I Forget?) I finally filled the calendars Birthdays and anniversaries Occasions to celebrate Flipping through the pages It occurred to me What I missed Most was YOU             ***True story: when I finally sat down…

All the Stars

How do you grieve when you’re ripped at that seams? Like there’s never enough time to pause, even breathe Not ready to go Not ready to cease Don’t wanna believe No sand left here to see Never taught to release Never taught not to beat…

Death Resists Metaphor

and proverb too, its walls unblemished by strikes that snuff the brightest stars. Pick one, toss it to the grieving. Study their faces for gratitude. Now picture this: You cradle your breathless child, kiss his face, surrender her to men in masks and gowns. Imagine…

ONE

If I were cement and shadows I could not know enough to be ready for such news — the letter in her loopy script her cheer and sweet affection sliced through by death — where-were-you-when, we ask, the moment’s film a looping strip, that heartbeat…