Pre-threnody (before you go)

I don’t want anything of his when he is gone. Not a damned thing.
We didn’t talk for 20 years, and now he tells me stories. He tells me things about my mother I never knew, and I tuck them away like perfumed handkerchiefs in small drawers. I may never open them again, but they are there, preserved for posterity. Someone will want them and treasure them. Or someone careless will throw them in the trash.

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bury the penitent

 

you break my senses
(your unsettled charms)
so my tears run down over their wrongs
to pay at my command

to release the dread
you relish
I shake their weak masters
from the groves

as fancy is mine–-
deeper
than any grave

Monday Random: compromise

A reprise of a Monday Random post from 2017, which applies directly to the wounds of this past weekend, real and imagined, and no, I will not explain that right now. Thank you for reading.

Are You Thrilled

  • I make my husband happy when I don’t talk during the news even if something makes me want to monologue
  • He makes me happy when he watches one of my old movies and doesn’t complain about the sound or the lame sets
  • I go to every Star Trek movie, sometimes on opening night
  • At some point he stopped saying things about my family that were sore spots
  • He went to the church I picked
  • I make pizza ten times more often than I’d ever eat it, and I learned how to make pizza crust like a New Yorker
  • I learned how to make cheesecake like a New Yorker though I could go the rest of my life without eating it
  • He’d rather the mayo not touch the cheese on a sandwich, and I respect that
  • He reads all my manuscripts and gives honest feedback
  • I’ve been going through menopause for…

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It is quiet now.

I cannot hear your stories anymore, how you would repeat the same one over and over once the dimentia had got you. Now you are not here to ask about the parts I have forgotten. How come you told me five times and I cannot remember?
It is quiet now, and I miss your grace, your smiling face, your eyes that inspired trust.
Do not worry, I will keep feeding Frisky while you are gone.

a worn Bible sits
snow falls on the fence posts
her smile on dark days

Monday Random

  • I went to mail a letter in my building without looking in the mirror first.
  • Day by day, I am getting back to my normal self
  • Whatever normal is
  • Perhaps normal is what I feel like inside, without anyone else’s expectations
  • I would also try to erase some regrets, though they cannot really be forgotten, and add to our experiences, what makes us wiser
  • sadder and wiser
  • Today’s weather here is a good illustration of how I view my life right now

Continue reading “Monday Random”

My tank feels empty

I wrote something this morning. I shared it with you because even though it was rough, I always want to tell you the truth. I wrote it quickly and did not edit it. It wasn’t great, but it was good. There was truth in it. I don’t want to post verbal spewing, but that is where the truth and heart is, the words I write before I have had a chance to muck it up, or chop it into pieces, or make it sound bigger than it is. Hipper than it is. It isn’t ageless literature. This is not Whitman I am writing here. This isn’t Frost. It’s a big heart from a big, bad place. It is a journey from darkness into the light. Not the light they tell you to avoid, but the warmth of peace and contentment no matter where I find myself

It is love, pain, sorrow, tears, regret, longing, sadness, hope, choking, loss, care, love, loathing, vengeance, cost, ringing, silence, deadly, hopeful, chance, wisdom, idiocy, lust, craving, darkness, life, light, craftiness, gratitude, defeat, melancholy, rebuke, aching, anger, revilement, tenderness, grief, crazed wishes, damned mistakes, mercy, grace, want, desire, apathy, music, hate, crashing, thunder, lightning, devastation, obliteration, pain, death, touch, relief, resilience, endurance, thankfulness, and love

puzzle pieces
all we have carried since then
the wishing that brings hard work
unexpected pleasures
birdsong still

I thought death had better manners

death-2024663_1280

 

 

A shadow fell across me
and the shelves of canned tomatoes
before me at the local market
someone breathing–heavy enough
close enough to feel it upon my neck

I moved an obligatory two steps
toward the green beans
but the shadow moved with me
like the mouth-breathers from
middle school

I made a quick move to leave the aisle
when a black-robed figure
skirted around me, knocking off
half a dozen cans
with a garden tool

Finally in line, with my 2 cans
of pizza sauce and a rotisserie chicken
I saw the black robe putting groceries
on the conveyor, and when he turned
his head I saw it was the grim reaper

I said, “Hey man–how come
you have 32 items in the express lane?”
Everything stopped. The store
was shrouded in silence. The cashier
looked at me in horror

Death’s hand stopped in mid-air
holding a box of Corn Pops.
“You know,” I said
“That stuff’ll kill you.”

 


from 2015
image by pixabay.com