The Rescue

Relief from this pain,
I know will come
but not soon enough
for me
the crushing blows
are sometimes unrelenting
and ill-timed.

I just want to be rescued-
an impossibility.

a bully

                                                                        Costa Rica-year unknown

Grief, a bully
bursts through
the door,
no warning.

Blindsided
my heart
pummeled,
I pray
I breathe
I connect
to the earth
and
the universe,
knowing that
grief will
blow out
the back
door
and return
in time.

bit by bit

i used to create
to entertain others,
but now i do it
in an attempt
to piece
my broken self
together,
bit by bit.

Forgive Me

Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak whispers the o'erfraught heart, and bids it break.-Shakespeare

Forgive me,
I chatter about my
husband incessantly,
much like new parents
talk about first teeth
and first steps,
gratefully
I don't dwell on lasts
much,
because through
the grace of God,
I did not know they
were lasts.
However, I remember
our
last
dance,
he took my hand
in his
and led me
to the dance floor
our friends near,
he held me close,
we moved in sync
to each other
and the music,
his face pinched
in pain,
I urged him to sit-
No, he said,
I know you 
like to dance.

Great Love

                                          An Original Rendering of My Great Love


“Emptiness is not a great loss. It creates a great opportunity to fill yourself again and again with great love.” ― Debasish Mridha

This is not
a chance to
re-write my
life story,
but to
embellish it,
to capitalize on
a great love
that is
infused in every cell
enriching
who I am today,
and with God's
healing and succor
who I will become.

Anticipate, Plan and Hope

Jerry, Wispy clouds float in a sky blue,
most of the snow is gone
puddles dot the field,
the grass looks like shredded wheat,
lawn mowers sit undercover
waiting.

A squirrel darts from nowhere,
I grip the steering wheel tighter
and squeeze my eyes shut,
just for a second and exhale
thinking that was a close one
for that little guy.
How lucky.

I ran into the grocery store
the other day
at about 7 pm
the parking lot empty,
the store too quiet
I picked out a cantaloupe
on sale
unripened, too hard to eat.
It sat on the counter
until this morning I pierced the
webbed rind with the tip of the knife
and after a couple of cuts
I popped a chunk into my mouth
and I thought of you-
morning fruit medleys,
your favorite.

George our neighbor
met me half way between
our house and his
to open a bottle
of Maple Syrup
the one you bought me this summer,
my hand too weak to muster strength,
my heart too sad to
register all the ways
I miss you.

This is what the living do,
straddle between the before and after,
the what ifs and the what is,
the what was and what could have been.

Meanwhile, the compost needs to be dumped
near the strawberries you planted.
I can't help but wonder
what the harvest will yield.
On your hands and knees last spring
a year ago you anticipated years of picking
because that is what the living do,
Anticipate, plan and hope
For a future that may never come.

(This was inspired by Marie Howe's What the Living Do.)

some days are like this

Tonight I felt that all the words had been squeezed out of me like toothpaste in a tube. The result of sitting and numerous false starts is above. Some days are like this...