once again I find myself at the beginning
yet never finishin’ the end
circles and circles of questions eating themselves
over and over again

sassie 05062025  not complete, work in progress

Inside your fair eyes
I don’t see my reflection
Heaven is my view

Music is the medicine

Makes you sing out loud

Helps soothe the pain

Lets you forget

Takes you to an ethereal place

Magically present in the moment

Mentally and physically

It’s a natural elixir and aphrodisiac

Causes you to let go and let loose

Shake what your momma gave you

Release all your inhibitions

Sky spends all night paling while we shell
three bags of pistachios, sore fingers, red
where they meet the nails. I flip past
the blue acrylic sheet in your journal.
A wasp whittles away the window sealant.
We drew eleven configurations of the living
room with the new baby grand and still
haven’t settled. I gave you every open door.
You took none. Your wet hair drips on your back
and my shoulder and keeps us cool.

My body is
Not exactly a temple
More like an artifact,
A map showing all
The paths I chose
The love I’ve given and gotten

My body is
A monument
To survival and resilience
To late nights and laughter
To excess and indulgence
To the love I’ve given and gotten

My body is
Holding yoga poses
Walking more slowly,
Stopping in wonder and awe
Celebrating life, and
The love I’ve given and gotten.

 continue up cliff sides who can pierce
flesh by air alone and I feel so
heavy and tired I will rest a little while
and
cross an essshaped river spine once
water melts into the valley from ice currents
fast enough to flow uphill, probably
and
balance myself steady on a real sandstone pin-
head where my voice calls all across an
invisible lake without a name thank goodness
and
and
and

each time, plates slip into place
again, shifted so slightly ptah
strains to see any difference at all

a chill breathy mouth and a stone
saints in wood some with sticky eyes
jeweled jamb missing several emeralds
plain except a hewn nail holds up its list
composite resin shaped to show a grain
iron-plated against her battering ram
a knob that whines when we turn 
it

of course the echos reach me, even here,
but what about my granddaughter?
a lock of hair taped to a clock?
disappointment shaped like a bridge?
my own ten fingers and toes?
I think I know I can go back there,
and I will soon, very
next
thing,
just first I have to

I still look for you as I roll into the driveway.
You would always manage to traipse right in front of me,
wagging and grinning as if I’d been gone a decade.
There’s still a twinge in my heart as I mow the grass
because you’re not patrolling the yard for moles.
Every time we have leftover meat scraps,
I still glance for your bowl on the porch.

They say grief is just love with no place to go,
and my heart feels swollen with it at night.
You’d often comfort me on nights like these, 
assuring me with a paw on my thigh 
that the sun would rise again tomorrow.
With all of my heart, overflowing with love
that can only go rolling down my cheeks
and onto my satin pillowcase,
I know it will be a sunny day 
when we meet again.

haunted melodies seep through my bones
caving from the weight of distant memories
wrought by roughly-hewn and calloused hands
intent on ruination.

imprisoned in a dissonant convent garden 
stained glass depictions of christ long-shattered
my body bruised for the pleasure of a merciless god
shackled by a prayer for salvation.

03/12/2023 London, United Kingdom.
Mama,
I am writing you from Westminster Abbey. I remember
you in places like this. All holy, all full of loss. These
stained glass windows remind me of that small Pentecostal                  
church you raised me in. I know I’ve made you proud.                   Kindly Deliver To:
Today, I stood at the High Altar. The silence, smothered              Tal Martin Cemetery    
with incense and memory, reminded me of how your hands                                               
held a tambourine, how your voice trembled through tongues.                                         
This place echoes between the veils of life and death. You                                                
would have loved the high ceilings and marble statues, but                                              
I know those streets of gold you walk are more beautiful.
I still wish you were here.
With much love,                                                             
Your daughter                   
                                    P.S. Happy Birthday.                                                                                                                          

     late day sunshine
I’d like to get out there
investigate what’s abloom
gather my thoughts, while walking
invite myself to rest
consider gratitude
offer a tiny prayer, or two
invite the warmth I hoped for
not so long ago