Needing an eclipse

I don’t trust sunny days or blue skies
I much prefer the gloomy greys
Most of my heartache has happened
on the most beautiful days.
Always seemed incongruous.

Finding my child was gone before I even felt him
then having to walk down the grassy slope
filled with wildflowers
sweetly scenting the air
when all I could taste was salty tears.

Losing my father hours after sharing a celebratory meal
on the bluest summer day
then having to greet his cold countenance
in an air conditioned hospital hallway
parts of him still warm from his run on the lane.

Feeling my young heart break
from a boy who didn’t even know he had held it
just as loosely as his jangling set of keys
even though I tried fervently
to wrap around him.

Fearing my soul was irreparably torn by a man
who took me on journeys
and shared so much wisdom
but could only see as far as that night
when I needed to look beyond.

But grey skies have always comforted
tea and blankets and old movies cocooning me
a gentleman’s hands taking mine gently in the cold
storms bringing clarity
grey days feeling like home.



The ache goes so deep
it hurts
to look out at the bright sunshine
I am startled to find there’s still feeling
when my toes start to tingle
and my breath catches
despite itself
And in a rush I see your face
hear your voice
expecting you to call any day
You left your hat
as if you were coming back
But the clean water
and green, green fields called you
You will be at home there
Where there is beauty
and laughter and song
Where great playwrights are outshined
by the simple words of children
I want to come too
but I’m not ready
not done yet with the darkness and misery here
But soon we will embrace
and it will be as though no time
has passed
So until then
I will miss you and your smile and your hugs and your ideas and your presence

A Few Handfuls of Days


And on the 19th day, she wept
Not for joy or anguish
but for the myriad emotions
swirling in her core

Barely a month ago it had begun
Then she found herself at sea
and strangely at ease
amid possibility

Newness holds promise
For there is no taint yet
to mar the smooth edges
or show any wear

She felt every crease in her being
Saw the roughness of her exterior
felt the stain deep inside
while plastering over it all with fakery

There are no steel coverings
To hide some hurts
renovating only helps
when it lies close to the surface

Only a few handfuls of days
Held the story of them
from glow to burnout
so why so much pain

When an idea takes root
And is stronger than memory
the gaping whole
is poignant for its brevity

Imagination improves on memory
Memory gets clouded by time
time heals many wounds
but it all still remains somewhere

She felt bereft
Yet was glad for the 19 days
she would keep that time close
tucked away in her mind

Tainted Joy


Driving the quiet old highway
Just after dawn
Cresting the curve
Blackbirds rise from the field
Joining others from memory
Flashes come quickly
The first flutter in the womb
The agonizing tearing away
The hollow loss
Empty hands aching
To hold the little one
Now just a figment
Try to hold onto the wheel
As the car careens toward pastures
Lush with life
The tainted joy still remains
Somewhere deep within
The hope of a future
A chance at redemption
In one little perfect smile
Now wiped away
And no one remembers anymore
Except an empty womb
That still feels the flutters
Gone too soon
On the other side of that hill
On that old highway
As the sun peeks over the hills

A Tight Grip on Remembering


Words can’t fill gaping holes in rock
Rebuilding doesn’t bring back the past
Only echoes of feeling remain
Only shadows of memories
I can’t bring myself to talk to a stone
Or visit a quiet place that smells of mothballs and platitudes
I would much rather visit you where it’s green
And the river sounds like your laughter

Others want to bring flowers or wear ribbons
While I want to run and run until I can’t stand it
To be so tired I can’t think anymore
So I fill up on other things

I read but the smell of the page reminds me of you
I sing but I choke on any words that try to escape
I walk and know you’re nearby and waiting
So I shiver and hope for more time

Tripping into mansions full of bird songs and breezes
Grasses nearby sway in the wind
The musty attic inside me is swept neatly under the rug
So many shades of dust swirl together
Are forgotten when I step outside
My skin drinks up the sunshine but my hands stay cold
Trying to keep my grip in the present but it’s hard to even want to let go
Because I don’t want to remember almost as much as I don’t want to forget

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