Posts for June 25, 2022

Giant yellow petaled black eyed monsters
hover
the work of one man
the gardener
he plucks each invasive weed
waters with care
picks off insects like a monkey in the bush
covers each head with netting
to dissuade song birds
in winter he sits
chews the fruits of his labor
spitting shells about the floor

there are going 
to be those bad days
when I love you 
isn’t going to fix 
a single thing
and  the entire time
will feel wasted
a struggle across
the jagged hours
waiting for the moment
to go to sleep

I’ll be with you
during, before, after
as whatever
you need me to be
because I said forever

Edna’s Mommy walked her through the fields,
trampling down grass and briars
on a hunt for wild weeds for secret teas.
The process was a penance, I imagine,
paying for a night in Paris.
And I try to envision what the hillsides sounded like.
The quiet part of the countryside
where a gaggle of women
might hide a pregnant poetess.
What sorts of birds were singing out
over the pains in her insides?
What kind of snakes lie hidden in the weeds
waiting to throw her from her horse
and rattle her down to the womb?
How thankful would she have been
to hit the ground hard, just right?

Fatigue clawed my face
while I tried to stay alert –
flash dreams and head jerks

forced me to sit straight
commenting on a few things-
helping keep vigil.

His sudden illness
dragged my fears to the surface-
just a stomach bug?

A long week at camp,
something just not sitting right-
once home, I can’t rest.

Flop on the sofa,
turn on Parks and Rec, a choice
I’m still free to make.

on the horizon
children unwanted
tornado of pain

-Sue Neufarth Howard

a dagger’s been left in my chest
this isn’t about severed romance
sharp analogies won’t rest
pain lines my ribs in a radiating dance

this isn’t about severed romance
it’s about the inability to cope
pain lines my ribs in a radiating dance
every rising number subtracts from hope

it’s about the inability to cope
the Reaper’s shadow towers
every rising number subtracts from hope
the aches won’t abate and my heart cowers

the Reaper’s shadow towers
Limbo is foggy with fear–the waiting
the aches won’t abate and my heart cowers
I’m certain I’m disintegrating

Limbo is foggy with fear–the waiting
sharp analogies won’t rest
I’m certain I’m disintegrating
a dagger’s been left in my chest

I never write anything down.
I’m too afraid of the permanence of my mistakes,
the impressions I may leave on anything soft & unwilling.
I’ve built a museum of dried-up ballpoints
& muted monologues.
The walls are bare.

You may look but not touch.

then I pick it up, wet the edges, paste the pinholed napkin across the keyhole, turn, watch scenes inverted stream against this cell wall, a shadow show of people walking past, life’s moments, animated greetings, conversations and protestations, discourse muffled through locked door, and I weep, until sunlit heat dries the paper, whereupon it falls to the floor then

In those darkest days

The lights will shine brighter

The sun will burn harder

Your heart will beat faster

The universe will reach out

It’s hand, asking for you

To rip you from the rabbit hole

And show you there are

Rainbows all around