haiku: nina simone’s cover

i can’t listen to
her “here comes the sun” right now.
it’s winter in me.

I know how right you are, you nightmare,

The sun was dimmer this time of year.
We sat on the floor of your crystal palace,
brown curls spilling down like the gnarled tree your sister painted.
There was no concrete way to express our grief,
for two people who have lost little but enough,
just the crying and the silence and the emptiness that followed.

Today is my sister’s birthday
Yesterday was my other sister’s birthday

One born before midnight
The other born after

My sisters are unique and special

Identical
Twins
With
Their
Own
Birthdays  

They called to inform us that your ashes are ready for pickup–
how strange it is to think you could possibly fit into such a tiny box,
all that love,
   all that life,
        all of you.

But there you are

and here I am

      s
         C

         a
               t
      T
                e
         r
                      E
                                  d

Holding you
contained before my eyes
while your spirit envelopes every waking moment I continue living.

letter sealed by wax

I was vegetarian(starving),
curling the fried fringes across my teeth—
minced meat and melted cheese
bolted to my lips, begging to
fix themself to further to my face

Lowry lips, lean left
a little longer—the wanting
will subside. The waiting
will have been worth it.
The whole will have
been healed
The emptiness will
finally be edifying…

I can’t believe I thought I could
eat around it; I can’t believe
I thought I could be vegetarian

Although I told her personal things
I know mermaids are not real

But see, the trees keep growing
The talking head on T.V. gives his opinion

Each morning slightly different
Now folded into paper like a swan

I decided that I’m not that crazy
Is anyone listening?

Again the light shines on the wall
There are two baby rabbits living under the shed

The past visits like a stray cat
Stirred by my waking

A reluctant day beginning
Celebrated or maybe mourned

The clanging of machinery, the water rising
Anything goes

If you live close to the source
and a green gown made of hope

drown in

                   the power
             of      a
            field,
      a                  creek.

                            Latch
to               want,
        a
bird,         blue

      blur,

                   hovering

        solitude.

* An erasure of Ada Limón’s poem “Drowning Creek” in her collection, The Hurting Kind

Distilled delicasy diluted
Cubes clinking against crystal
Never a solution
to the ills life brings
Just something to help you
no longer care