Tag: grief
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I
write these lists, of things to do draw lines when they are done and still, I leave the anchor & the crown off my I’s For a good long while I didn’t even capitalize them; they felt too loud too self-possessed, not me I spent time pressing backspace & delete shrinking the stories…
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(heart)
there was a hole there, it was flesh and deep not visible from front or back felt only from its sides from walking beside it and with it, eyes closed eyes open, for always. There was a hole there, it was beautiful and empty gaping with mercy gaping for mercy it was not ruined it…
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It is
the curling black wick of a tea candle, softened with time and shiny gold threads leading me nowhere it’s the cheap, blue pencil sharpener whose blades give points to some and chew deep divots in the rest it’s rock stacks and dried flowers; my god is it rock stacks & dried flowers whose lines layer…
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MIRRORS for Waverly Pearl
she brings me a piece of sun-bleached white paper- she wants to show me what she’s drawn at school today I see a dog, with wings happy and outside clear as day in its left hand the dog is holding a wand with a heart at its center to the left of the purple winged dog there is a thought…
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Coils
Like a pot on a windowsill I long for more air more earth the glowing wink in a night sky The give of Terra Cotta is still, somehow, so unforgiving. From my perch lookout beside the windowsill I see the soft, round starts of pea plants how they’ve made their way into the tulips (in…
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eulogy for a mother
on her birthday I drink my coffee black with two sugars, like she did. There isn’t a single cloud in my coffee on March 28th, only the gentle clank of a silvered teaspoon against the lip of my favorite coffee cup. This most comforting sound can be heard from anywhere in the house. Deep chestnut…
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torn bread
hot steam rising a cooling pot the Colorado moon, black as night cold ear pressed a thinning wall a sightless chickadee her January tune lost anchors (of) my i’s wings (right off) my back how to unbreak the broken
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ars poetica*
I miss the curve of you your long, snaked lines pinked with meaning meaning only, I (will never fully) understand the fire I contain (for you) is not fire at all it is cold and clear and terrible; ripe, round mountains peaks of a book an explosion of sky the thick neck of a leaf heavy with gravity here, I am crazy and strange and it is revered: my crazed strangeness; oxygenated ambition, …
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the Bee
All afternoon I listened to the bumble bee buzz, this is what they told me: “Listen Button, when I tell you they were drunk, I don’t mean beer-with-lunch-cocktail-hour-wine drunk, I mean speech-slurring-bodies-weaving-fall-down-and-leave-me-here drunk, I mean stinkin’ drunk. Picture a massive swarm of us all liquored up, gallons of that post-rain-elixing good stuff pumpin through our veins, oooh weee! Liquored up and heading to the hive, bumping into everything but each other- that was them…
