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.

A horse’s heart, plastic and 
big as my head. Fascinating,
even after the first seven times
I held it in my arms.
How hard it worked, how much
blood it pumped, how big and heavy and
red and yellow and pink. 
Plastic, smoothed with all the other
little hands just as enthralled as me. 
How could something be so big?
How was I supposed to not
compare and contrast with my own?

But, today, I saw a man’s heart.
Not in a literary way, not in a nightmare way.
A man’s heart, in a bowl in an operating room,
and how it looked too wet and red
but too yellow and still to be anyting but real.
Out of his chest, replaced. 

And when his heart came out—a sort of
enormous, unhappy organ—

I was nine again, then ten, 
eleven or twelve. How old was I
when I last held a heart in the cradle of my arms?
Heavy and solid, unforgettable. 

An enormous, unhappy kind of organ,
sleeping in that big blue bowl. 
Smooth, for all the hands that held it. 

I like the idea of summer more than the practical application,

The summer sun is golden and lingers long past pumpkin hour. 

“Nothing gold can stay” is a promise Robert Frost and Ponyboy made that I loved in literature but now feels both threatening and reassuring at 48.

I once wore a bikini, but now it’s a scuba suit to protect from skin cancer and a razor. 

The green of the leaves is hanging in there but my hour is over, my Eden has sunk  

Nothing Gold can stay– is my mantra. 

I’m living in the Fall. 

Wires on wires on cables
on music on meals on charcoal.

Crescent breeze blowing canopies
east-by-southeast like summary

like vigor spawns from sound,
salutations spent before sundown.

Watched the rain at 2 today wondered why……..
God cleansing the way for you
falling steady like the many tears and wondered why……..
Was there something left to say
anything left to fear and wondered why……….
Pondered the sun at 3 today and wondered why…..
we had to say goodbye

I breathe stress until my lungs tighten, 
and I choke trying to get the words out. 
I’m still running, sorting out this puzzle called “life”. 
Even the smallest thoughts suffocates me.  

Too tired to sleep, 
to exhausted to breathe, 
even simple conversations kills me..  

I don’t care that none of you see me anymore,
cause even if i got the words out you wouldn’t listen. 
 You’re not the oxygen I need. 

I’m ridin’ through

listenin’ to Mac [Miller].

Thinkin’ bout what we lost

the strength it take

to fight a battle against yourself

demons of addiction

talons dug in round your ankles

draggin’ you down, down, down.

Music floatin’

got me cloud-soft

pillowin’, billowin’

smokestack big as lady liberty

how come I never felt less free?

The crackle of the inhale

radio static, snow on the tv

tortilla chips in the bowl, stale.

I got everything I want

but it still feels like I’m in stuck in hell.

Every person I love

lettin’ ‘em down.

Sunshine blinding under these shades

cold sweat clings to my back

like the ice tea glasses

I used to drink with my grandma

same color as the August air’s consistency- molasses.

She don’t even know her own name now

half the time I couldn’t tell you mine neither.

That’s how I like it

numb my troubles away

barely breathing.

Takin’ the Benadryl route

can’t be sneezing if you’re sleeping.

Somnambulating through these patchwork scenes

‘til it’s decided next season

They don’t need me now, now, now.

Downward spiral

toilet flush or buzzard

it’s almost my time.

I don’t think I can catch up

no more strength left to muster.

It’s scorching out here

I can feel it through my closed eyelids

like the inside glass of the stove

when you’re checking the chocolate chip cookies

that you made cause they’re her favorite

and you just want to see that smile.

I want to open my eyes

stand up and move

but I just keep baking like the cookies

with the burnt bottoms

you threw out, out, out.

Something’s on the wind today
    at least, it’s a start
that we should feel a breeze 
    at all, luck on our part
lucky they
call me a loon
call me what you will
just call me cus’
The way things are blowin’
    here comes another monsoon