armadillo

And then like a pool cue, his inner child propelled mine forward with a slow roll and a pocket.

Dandy Lion

I suppose the real fire
began to emit
when grown up
me
really turned around
and clasped a small hand.

Death

We don’t talk about how relationships never end …. it feels … like reaching through air.

on cold days, I pour into my nana’s hands

My knuckles are bone inflamed.
Skin, Ponds soft
Shimmery
Short, red nails
Perhaps an opal
No. Brown-yellow topaz.

star born

“You realize we are sisters again, now that we are free.”

“Yes,” she said.

my resting place

I ground myself into the earth.
Here.

Veronica

I gave her back. Too.
When my own was born.
I gave much back.
So I could mother.

Pinkie

I love you. Your forehead; my lips. Your rings; my giving. Your lifeless body; my ring. My ring; your body leaving. My longing; your pinkie finger. My decision; topaz side by side. I love you.

Narrative on a Wound

The wound, the wound. You know that bearded man, the one who died? The one who died angry, who wrapped himself around me and I led him out? Well it’s been a year now and I’ve been angry (again). He never said good bye.

(no) superhero

Grief and joy are opposites. Except that grieve is the preferable word because it is not static. And if you let it live all of its lives, joy is a word that whispers constantly. And softly.