somewhere an emotion tumbles into existence
ex nihilo, or maybe not
in the great universe of the mind it could be from the outer rim
I can only feel the train rumbling in the distance
vibrating, gently
and then boom it flies in and explodes
right next to me so my blood and sinew
escape my gravitational pull
but the emotion doesn't care and it tumbles
and tumbles, like a snowball
a great cosmic snowball of misplaced nothing
or maybe it's a black hole,
because nothing escapes its horizon
everything around us goes rushing in
and it all is smashed relentlessly
around this giant ball is a fringe
of pretense
there must be some explanation in the brain
and so it is constructed around the emotion
justified by the emotion
if faith is belief without sight
splitting is justifying all the dark in the heart
no facts need apply
cause emotions don't lie
so we have this construct of make-belief
we burn on and on and die and die
nothing is real but the feel
and no one can try to explain
who can hear facts clamoring
in the middle of all this pain?
then boom and bust and the snowball
melts, and the star goes supernova
and all that's left is an eerie silence
and the construct created to explain
the anger that took the rein
what do we do with that?
it's a fragile paper mache
and the balloon is popped
and it was just air?
how is this fair?
we watch it collapsing
what do we see?
everything around is gone
consumed by the fury and the fire
now we can see
the moment of decision:
for you, for me
how do we unwind
the mess that was made
from this ball of irrationality?
Feb 9, 2024
Feb 9, 2024 at 4:57 PM UTC
I remember you with the brown eyes and
blonde hair, arranged in a cute little bob.
I remember you, bright smile and dark tan,
looking for her first babysitting job.
The toddler-you made me quake in my boots,
but the older-you seemed collected and cool,
a teenager with solid family roots,
popular and very well-liked at school.
Today it's all gone. I ache for your mom,
and your sisters, your brother, your dad.
The pain you've inflicted has little balm--
Did you know you could make joy itself sad?
Dec 12, 2023
Dec 12, 2023 at 12:24 AM UTC
Words fall; they clatter to the floor like
the shoes the five-year-old discarded
or things returning to gravity
after an extended time in space.
These thoughts had just been dancing
between us, whipping between us
ruffling our hair and mussing
any claim we had to perfection.
But then, you snapped your fingers
and they fell. Harmless, motionless
there on the floor where we dropped
them, and, by will, we forgot them.
Yet: I did not snap my fingers.
I let go when I saw your words fall;
I let go and mine fell too, joining
yours in sparse synchronicity.
(and you don't know what an act
of blank force that was for me
to fall with you in a mad hope
that I don't even grasp or hold)
I know you think it was your snap
alone that made the words fall down
to be dead and harmless echoes
for you to forget so promptly.
But I let go. Through bitter choice,
determination. Sad reaching
for character and battered love.
My words were pain; yours were knives.
I'm glad you dropped them. Obviously.
And I'm glad I did, seamlessly
so that you wouldn't notice how
we just papered over my blood.
Forgiveness is a sticky thing,
most brilliant when drowned in concealed tears.
And my words, fading equal with yours—
the messy debris of the holy.
Mar 22, 2023
Mar 22, 2023 at 4:54 PM UTC
The lies we tell
About happiness
About ever after
Fragmenting us
Pieces of a beautiful picture
A puzzle
So pretty, so art
Until you pick it up
And pieces in your hands
Fall
In a heaped mess.
Love that is whole
So whole
Such an example
Such a lovely life.
But we know
We hold disconnected, broken bits
Torn out of our souls
Just pretending
To be one
To be beautiful
When two become
One
Set of shards.
Jan 3, 2023
Jan 3, 2023 at 1:35 AM UTC
Pain etches deep in the mother's heart.
Fear burrows into my soul.
Are the ducklings home,
And will they remain?
The moment, I can feel, is so fleeting.
If I could see the future, would I shudder?
One day will they hold me, or scold?
These days I'm writing now, will they return and haunt me?
Oh children, am I bringing you joy or pain?
These little ones are so simple to shepherd,
But they grow into each a man.
And the adult will reflect and stand alone and judge,
And I'm afraid they'll find me wanting.
I see my failures lined in a row
And I know there are more beside
Invisible to my eyes but written in their hearts
So fragile were these things I treated so roughly!
Pain etches deep in the mother's heart.
Remorse buried in my soul.
Can the ducklings, grown,
Forgive my mistakes?
These chances were so quickly fleeing!
Jan 3, 2023
Jan 3, 2023 at 1:35 AM UTC
In history,
Anonymous was a woman, she said.
And certainly,
Anonymous has since been me.
I've been hiding,
Not hidden. Afraid of shame.
Jan 3, 2023
Jan 3, 2023 at 1:34 AM UTC
I just want to float down
Like a leaf in fall
That has finally
Finished
The hard work of
Sustaining a giant tree.
And turning brown
Blowing out a brilliant
Hue
To fall down
And rest
On the ground
Crunched by the feet
Of the passing schoolchildren
And ground
At long last
Into dust.
Jan 3, 2023
Jan 3, 2023 at 1:33 AM UTC
our lives stopped in October
with the brain tumor
(that wasn't even ours)
and now there's a calendar
and piles of things
all stuck in October
while our real selves are in spring
or is it our fake selves
gone on before us
with the impossible feeling that we
will never catch up
still here in October
and the flowers are blooming
the April showers
bringing May flowers
to October.
in October he died
though his body lingered on
his meanness and vanity too
but there was never home again
no corn from the garden
no last buck to bring down
everything that should be
died just before fall
though life continued to gasp
through Christmas, into winter
half-life, half-stopped, desperate
and breaking
since October.
Jul 21, 2019
Jul 21, 2019 at 9:02 PM UTC
The soft breeze picks up my hair then drops it
as dark clouds come rolling through the sky.
Rippled in gray, the world becomes less lit
as though the heavens above thought to cry.
But don't weep for us now, it's beautiful.
There is nothing so glorious as dust!
The smile on my face is not dutiful—
this is joy as the wind begins to gust!
Something inside me loves the dissonance:
the broken sun runs away, reflecting
the desperate gasping for deliverance.
A return to the day we're expecting.
The rain, the wind, all mutely testify
to each bright day suddenly gone awry.
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 1:51 PM UTC
"Mama, why
do the boys stare at me?"
She stares at me with her
bright green eyes
and golden wavy hair
that falls perfectly.
"Mama, why?"
What in all my years has prepared me
to answer this?
"That's—because—"
Ask me no questions,
I'll tell you no lies.
"Because—"
I flounder, but she
doesn't notice.
She just stares at me,
waiting.
I think.
I should have looked this up.
I should have anticipated it.
I stare at her.
"Hmm? Mama?"
I decide to brush it off.
"You know why. You're
just fishing."
I tease. Deflect. Wait.
But still she stares, so I lean in.
Hating each word before it emerges.
As if the sum of our existence,
our attractiveness to the world,
our usefulness,
hangs on this one flimsy, filmy,
fleeting facet of our being—
"They stare because you're pretty."
I smile love at her.
Before I walk away.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 12:53 PM UTC