but not forgetting

I am grateful for the almost four years that I have posted here, but realize today – one day short of four years since Chris died – that discontent, joy, grief, lonely, alone, want, need, and love have all found their true homes in my soul.

Do you ponder (false) dichotomies

But lonely.
Lonely
is for your people.

(Mama) will you wash my face

Now when she sees I seek alone
She comes to me, she asks

The Conductor

If you
crouched down
and focused your view,
pieces of me
were visible in
the distance.
Firmly clutched yet
completely invisible
to the carrier.

Things I know . . .

. . . that my body has finally found a voice equal to my mind, and my heart is but their mediator.

Grief Love

As if picking up grief – in this case – was also picking up the mirror I kept trying to wipe clear, and turning it around . . . Pulling my shoulders back like a mother would tell a child that grew before the other kids, and boldly holding up my mirror like I could Say Anything.

A Penny for …

My dents
are not hidden.

what happened when I shed the cloak my mother gave me

I put my fingers to my solar plexus and am not sure if it’s the flattening of hands I need or a boring inward. Who needs healing today.

the waiting chair

For all of the little girls sitting in chairs.
Waiting for all of the little girls sitting on stoops.

a private grief

This past week – in my dis-ease – I looked out the same window that Chris spent many a day gazing through, as his body broke down. I remembered his silence, his privacy. I converged with it a little further, as I too feared from within my body. And I too said nothing.