I would suffer for you,
A thousand times over
No matter how much you might not deserve it,
I would drive to the end of the world
For one more hug
I’d never sleep,
Just to stay up and talk
I’d drive myself crazy
With the ‘what ifs’
And the memories on repeat
I’d never love again,
Just to save it all for you
I would suffer,
If it meant I got to have you
i feel a little “my baby” for you
but i also just want you to go to sleep.
wake up in the same room. not the same
bed, just rumpled and white eyes and breathing
slower than this hummingbird month. days flicking
by like millisecond wings. you don’t feel like the old home
of a laced bullet anymore and it’s been years since i felt whole
on my own. you would hate to hear me call you baby.
only a few days younger than me, baby.
Do not be afraid my child,
to touch my brow or
smooth my hair.
Use a warm damp cloth
to wash my face, to
wipe my eyes.
Though I cannot drink,
you may wet my lips
and tongue with cool
water from a sponge.
Rub my arms and legs
with lavender lotion
and fill your senses
with aromas you know
I enjoy. Comfort me
with you loving hands,
as I have done for you
so many times before.
You needn’t be afraid
dear one, for inside
this withered body
there is some part of me
that knows you, your
scent, your touch.
As I held you close
when you first arrived,
it’s okay for you to hold
me, and tell me it is time
to go. For I will hear you
and then I’ll know
there is no doubt
the love I have given you
is the love that you now show.
Do not feel sorrow as you
stay with me awhile,
as I will always be inside
your heart and mind.
It is you who has made
my beautiful life devine.
KW 6/14/23
I wonder, if we pass in evening light,
you’ll sense I am an animal of night.
Or if your wary eyes are drawn to mine,
you’ll glimpse a normal girl: sheepish, benign?
Will your lips curve to form a new moon smile,
steps hesitate and pause, to talk awhile?
Or will you—heartbeat quickened—hurry by,
suspicious that the “normal” is a lie,
that underneath this wool a poet’s heart
hungers to savage words and name it art.
I crave to doff this coat, to stand exposed,
to howl each syllable, each verse composed.
I wonder, when you flee from me tonight,
if you’ll still strain to hear what I recite.
after everyone was gone
i threw away the flowers
but kept the dried lavender
and yellow roses.
they were still beautiful
even dead.
i took down
the halloween decorations,
because your lingering
haunted me.
i cleaned. i cleared, i cried,
tried to will myself whole,
failed to will myself whole
and cried again.
but i stayed vertical,
the harder choice most days.
i didn’t stop.
tossing flowers
and taking down ghosts.
i kept moving.
that had to be enough
after everyone was gone.
this is not a poem, son.
it just looks like one.
Everyone saw him bullying me.
You tried to calm him!
I guess it was my fault,
“once again” showing up
woman and black.
You get what you want.
A mirror of who you are!
I got what I wanted
to be rid of toxic masculinity.
I’d rather write about it.
In that place, I’m safe!
Joyce, “She’s a poet.”
Gary, laughed out loud!
I dimpled smiled back.
He didn’t know he was a poem.
Ha, ha this is yours.
Fire golds
run deep
in blood reds
take on the sun
weave its essence into your sinews
so that the fibers underneath skin
might glow
and burn away
your doubt
of your own divinity
if you would only allow yourself
to ingest your own magnificence
allow it to poison the deep well
full of the questions
that keep your lies etched in the muscles of your heart
An icicle hangs on the edge of your house, and every day it seems grow.
The ground is covered by a frost so white, that in the light it seems to glow.
No plants peak through the winter shroud, so you draw a flower in the snow.
When the snowflakes fall upon the grass, they all look the same beneath the sun,
So when a few stick to your glove, you take special care to look at one.
You stare up at the cloudless sky, and wonder where the gray has gone.
When you stare out at the snowy hills, you see all the trees are bare.
It’s seems the spinning world’s gotten as still as it could dare.
As you tred across the frozen ground, you sing a song to fill the chilly air.
Your song echoes through this snowy plane.
When it gets back, you hear your name.
It slowly fades into the wind, and all the winds can sound the same.
