“…don’t spoil the denouement by telling the guests everything is terrible,but let them have the thrill of finding it out for themselves.” —Ogden Nash
She begs now, I thought she was a mock orange;
inadequate defense of her own territory,
she creeps into the foundation of my house.
I advocate her extenuation & damp rampart.
*A small departure from my original plan. Sometimes I write passion poetry for my dude.
I wonder how many laughs
we have shared
Obnoxious because “Damn!”
Or quiet
so we don’t look like assholes
Or flirty because
we both want eachother
and nobody else gets to be
a part of
our beautiful moments
When it is
just you and me
afloat
in the galaxy
When your breath
is my breath
And there is
nothing but
us
And I could die
right here
in the slices
or the pieces
or the parts
that create
Us
And expire happily
just
because
of the taste
of your kiss
We pray as a family
to caffeine,
sixty or more hour workweeks,
and running on the fumes of fumes.
We spread the gospel of
our lord and savior,
insomnia.
Our mantra,
“There’s always room for improvement.”
We chant it under our breath.
I am in constant competition
with my past selves.
Every compliment followed by
an internal narrator’s “for now.”
Each success, a piece in the
sequential series of befores.
Desperate to undo
all it means to be human.
greening gold- blue brown
white.
rise in misty hemlock rows
clayhole mist his own way home.
song birds gather
snow covered gown.
she moves beyond
where we can see her now.
the gown is trailed-
and grown
and gone
blown down-
golden brown.
awake way too early
I open the blind and observe the pinks of morning
the trees are waving, slowly like a beauty queen in a parade
the day is mine, and I don’t want to ruin it
the fight is there, inside me
release and let go versus hold on and fight
freedom fighting anxiety and I know I hope who wins
I love myself and at times, strongly dislike my behaviors
I tell myself to celebrate my joys even if slightly insubstantial
allow myself to be, could I be, content?
it’s possible but to will oneself to be happy is rather the opposite
why not try to not be sad, I ask myself and maybe it’s that easy yet I doubt
doubt is the key, I believe
so I try my best to assure myself the truth
wondering if anyone else feels this way, at this moment
and noticing the trees are now, as I look out the window, dancing a wild dance
as if to say, let go
No more scary stories before bed
This Nightmare elixir cant suppress
All the beautiful terrifying things in
Your Head
“IM 35 YEARS OLD!”
“I CAN PLAY MY MUSIC AS LOUD AS I WANT TO!”
but maybe turn it down if it gets too loud
“I CAN LEAVE REALLY LONG VOICEMAILS!”
if I want to
“I CAN GROW OUT MY HAIR!”
if i want to
As a matter of self
Love
Self care
What kind of animals would desway you from your dreams?
Your casual complex?
“I’M 35 YEARS OLD!”
“I CAN OVER DO IT!”
If I want to.
But maybe should remember the plans we made
And would like to keep.
We’ll walk to our appointment
If we have to
We won’t.
No more scary stories before bedtime.
Your stomach’s gonna eat it self
Go back to bed.
I will have to be satisfied
with Ancient Copper
from my own veins
— from Eternal Blue by Terry Elliott
https://impedagogy.com/wp/blog/2021/05/29/eternal-blue/
When all that’s left
are pencil nubs
and brittle points
on folded notebook paper,
with fingerprint creases
that held me as close
as origami,
I run your copper ink
along the blue –
the color of poem
and maps, of story
and exploration —
as I wonder at
what I read when
I spent the morning
reading you
His routine was seamless. The electric
alarm rattled at 6. Cornflakes
with powdered milk & instant
coffee at 6:15. He stepped
on the train from Lombard
to Chicago at 6:55. He held
his Samsonite briefcase in his left
hand, Tribune in his right.
He worked on the 44th
floor of the world’s tallest
building in an office the size
of an outhouse. There was no talk
of things uncontrolled
or concealed. Not the pain he
could not pinpoint. Ovaries.
Falopian tubes. Voiceless
yearning for a friend or two. After
mother left him, he arranged
his work clothes precisely
on the cedar chest at 8:30 pm. Kept
his socks, all dark gray,
in pairs held together with safety
pins. All purchases written
neatly in a black bound
notebook that fit into his shirt
pocket. When they filled
up he stored them in Ziplocs
and stacked them in the bottom
drawer of his deep
brown slant top desk.
It’s Christmas, Allan, and I have been doing without you for nine years now
I’ve been doing without watching our favorite Chrsitmas movies together
and hearing you say, “God bless us every one.”
I’ve been doing without the fun and whimsey of watching you open your gifts
Bereavement is the reality of always having to do, and keep doing without you
Mournig is the process of intentionally loving you in your absence,
moving on in life, and doing without
So this year I decided to keep on doing – and doing and doing. . . .
doing without stopping – to just keep doing because
doing would help me avoid thinking about what I’m doing without and
doing would help me welcome the joy of Christmas into my heart and soul
This year I tried doing without living with the motto,
Everyone has a right to an occasional meltdown
I tried doing without the need to find the perfect gift for everyone on my list
I tried doing without stress, worry, and anxiety
I tried doing without as much emotional investment in wrapping gifts,
which meant doing without my long-held notion that the perfect wrapping paper,
homade gift tag, and bow are essential parts of the gift
I devoted my time and energy in the enjoyment of doing while
doing without guilt or regret
Doing without overthinking, I was sewing costumes, blissfully baking biscotti,
making bows for the basket auction, and hosted a table at the Chrsitmas Tea
I was busy doing, but aware that I was not doing without
investing love in my doing – doing without love was impossible!
I realized that doing without you
has taught me valuable life lessons I need to know
but didn’t want to learn
Doing without you has prepared me
to be a compassionate listener and empathetic companion,
doing without fear or hesitation what God leads me
to be doing in the sacred space created by death
I visited friends at the Compassionate Care Center several times,
each time stopping to pray and touch the frame of the door
where you took your last breath
There was no doing without stopping to reflect, remember you,
and give thanks for those God sent to comfort and bless me
This Christmas I learned that doing without
the bitterweet pleasures of deorating the house,
taking time to carefully place sentimental ornaments on the tree,
and assemble our collected crowd of visitors around Jesus’ manger bed,
are activities that I am never to be doing without
In this process of intentional doing while doing without
I found that love lives on
It is in the remembering, loving, living, and moving on that
you will always be a part of me
I’m never really doing without you after all
