Small cracks in my chest
open wide once or
maybe seven times a week.
It is not always so bad.
I am a child,
overwhelmed with all of
the hope and despair
of being something
that has never before been.
Something so fragile
and so small.
Darkness will fall and
I will cry in my nervous way.
I will tremble in my fear.
I will crack and break and be remade
night after night.
Ever the child come morning.
I hope I never grow up.
In waiting until now,
is that not a decision in itself?
My window is closing.
When it was wide open,
I made no effort to prop it there.
Now closed, except a sliver,
the effort is almost insurmountable.
I leave it to the universe.
If a little one sneaks through that gap,
they’re mine for eternity.
If it remains empty until closed,
then that’s what’s meant to be.
this dependency
the movement of others
whims, decisions, what is not immediate for them
though for me
I grow tired
this despondency
why can’t I choose
make a way
decide within my own urgency
when will I finally turn
the corner forever
leaving the self serving
behind
sooner than later, I tell myself
why not this season
these days when the sun shines not only bright
yet long
Rain is gone for now, the earth a bright green stretch of ground
Petals peek out above stems bent by relentless showers
Splashes of purples and oranges and yellows spread
Intoxicating smells of fecundity and regeneration
Tree branches are atwitter with interim tenants
Fireflies flash their morse codes of courtship
While cicada choruses sing in synchrony
The night comes alive with noise
A diversity of plants grow non-stop
Climbing vines embed themselves in trees
A clutch of turtle eggs left underground to break
Open on their own accord, releasing their hatchlings
Who escape into the crazy chaos of blooming and growing
Flourshing and producing and maturing in the summer frenzy
Which will continue to warm our hearts even when it comes to an end
I hike into the cool hues of summer—
the bondy blue of the pond in the midst
of yellowing cornstalks, under the dark
spring green umbrella of oak-hickory
and black walnuts, into a peace
that only exists here. There’s nothing
to be forgiven in the forest. Not even
the foxes for feeding their young
that brother turkey whose sister now
pecks at grandmother grasshopper.
But we humans who peck at one another,
we have all sorts of textures of the law
of our land. We, having moral agency.
Or do we?
In one half turn
I am afraid of feeling
My precious son died and I’ve been walking around
working, cooking, living life in a state of numbness
doing dumb things because my mind is in a state of grief
I am ok with being numb for now, because
I am afraid of feeling
I am not sure who I am
without my son as a part of my life
my love for him hasn’t really changed, but it has nowhere to go
my oldest son is grieving in his own way, and being distant
as he figures out how to live his life without his brother
my husband is grieving so differently, even though I know I am
loved by friends and family, I still feel very much alone
How do I figure out who I am in my new life circumstances?
Grieving is exhausting
I am constantly tired. Everything takes more energy
I only get a fraction of the things I need to get accomplished
done each day. I do get work done at work, but at home I am
already completely exhausted and I don’t want to go anywhere
or do anything else once I get home
Most of all, I am wondering what purpose I have in this
confused, overwhelming, fast moving world when I am
barely exhisting, numb, grieving, and not sure who I am
anymore. I am a mother, a healthcare employee, a wife,
a poet, a musician, a woman, an aunt, a great-aunt, and a
friend. And I am grieving and trying to make it through
each day as it comes.
Children covered in molasses
Sticky hands grabbin the linen of their mamas skirts
And tuggin.
Dirty babes being dirty babes
A whole holler full of ‘em,
Too many for the village to raise.
Ain’t we known for being a fruitful bunch?
Ain’t we known for being resourceful?
Snap the peas we plucked from the garden for the pot
Ain’t enough to get everybody full,
But ain’t nobody gonna starve.
Say, you got any of that bacon grease
Left over from breakfast?
G’on and throw that in there, too.
We’ll cook while the children hose each other down.
We’ll eat when the sun sets.
