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My family is not too small
Just one short of a dozen.
Ten of us under one roof
And not one of them’s a cousin.

We drive in a 12-seater van
Sometimes even long distance.
But we’re not going anywhere
Until mom takes attendance.

My siblings greet me after work
With “Can I have a dollar?”
Oh look, my missing leather belt
Is now the cat’s new collar.

Our chickens provide our breakfast
Collected straight from the coop.
I hate to admit this but, last year
One of them cooked in our soup.

Our cat is great at catching mice,
He’ll even eat a few.
Unfortunately that is why
We’re down a parrot too.

We’re out of milk, there’s no clean socks,
Did someone feed the chickens?
Please don’t tell me it’s my turn
AGAIN to clean the kitchen.

Every day is an adventure
Some days more than one.
But let me tell you one thing:
We’re always having fun.
 Oct 2018 Jess A Opperman
Jay
Ever?
 Oct 2018 Jess A Opperman
Jay
will the aching stop
my heart, when I speak of you
with words in past tense
 Oct 2018 Jess A Opperman
Jay
I'M MAKING nachos in your toaster oven. The chips fall in the pan without a problem. Beans, evenly distributed (if I do say so myself.) Salsa- good to go. Then the cheese. Generic brand shredded cheese blend. I dangle my (washed) fingers into the zip-lock bag, grab a generous pinch and rain mild cheddar down on my gourmet meal. And I feel the tears building. "No," my conscious scolds, "you will not cry over shredded cheese." I add another pinch for flavor, then another to assert dominance. I slide the pan into the tiny oven- triumphant! But the next task breaks me. I freeze when I try to adjust the heat setting. I hear your voice so clearly, like you're still calling from the next room: "you have to press the TOAST button, it cooks much faster."  The tears start to roll. I think about how excited you were when cheese bubbled perfectly- "just a little brown, ever so slightly crispy." We would joke about your persnickety preferences, likely a product of your superior taste. Of course, you would have appreciated anything I made for you, but it was always better when the dish matched the idea in your head...when I made it like you would have made it (if you were only well enough to cook for yourself again.) In the present, I poke the TOAST button and flee the kitchen as to not cry in front of the smothered chips. I sit on the sofa and break down, gasping in childish sobs. "I miss her," I wail to an empty house. Warm tears coat my cheeks in the air-conditioned room. I feel so small. I feel so foolish for crying over stupid, little things. I feel so... so... A bell dings in the kitchen. I wipe my sleeve across my face and traipse back to the toaster. Hand into oven mitt, mitt onto pan, pan onto table. I grab the plastic tubs of sour cream and guacamole from the fridge and a spoon from the drawer that sticks a little when you try to open it. I pick the non-wilted bits off the head of lettuce and rinse them under the faucet. I finish the recipe. I pull out a chair. I sit down to nachos for one.
Grief is such a strange emotion/process.

*Oh my! Thank you all so much for your support! I wrote this back in June when I needed to get it out of my head and had no idea it was chosen as a daily until I just logged back on and thought there was a glitch with my notifications number. I was slightly mortified that a piece of my mourning got exposure but after reading your comments I'm glad that I documented something many of you identified with. I've since journeyed a bit farther in my grief- slowly overcoming my initial instinct of trying to instantaneously analyze every feeling to determine whether I'm "allowed" to have it. I went to a group bereavement meeting offered by the hospital that treated the loved one in this poem and the nurse running the session made a good point- no one can fully understand another person's relationship with an individual who's passed on. Interpersonal relationships are unique and so is grieving. Being gentle with yourself (especially in times of struggle) is woefully underrated. And with that, I send love, gratitude, and positive vibes to this wonderful community
You know those tears you get
When you can't stop laughing
Because you don't want to
And they just rest on your cheeks
Until you finish your laughter
And you wipe them away

You know those tears you get
When you watch a sad movie
And you feel like the characters are real
Even though they're not
And the tears just rest by your lips
Until the movie is over
And you wipe them away

You know those tears you get
When you say goodbye to a friend
And you don't want them to go
But they need to go
And the tears just rest on your chin
Quivering
Until the dust settles
And you wipe them away

You know those tears you get
When you walk down the aisle
And everything is perfect
When love is beautiful
And the tears just collect on your eyes
Until you need to blink
And you wipe them away

You know those tears you get
When you remember yesterday
And you wish it were alive again
But it isn’t
And the tears just fall to the ground
They soak into the Earth
And you can't wipe them away



©Words of a withering soul
I'm a firm believer that you never truly stop loving your first  true love. 

My first true love, she was beautiful. 

She was beautiful after she had danced under the stars and the moon, finally letting herself be free. 

She was beautiful with wind blown hair and sparkling,
mirth filled eyes as we laughed at some joke. 

She was beautiful in the way she walked,
with the sassy swing of her hips. 

She was beautiful in the way she talked,
the sound of her voice was like music to my ears. 

She was beautiful in the way she smiled, the genuine smile that she barely showed anyone,
the one that she said only I ever noticed wasn't forced. 

She was beautiful in the way she laughed,
that hearty laugh that made me so happy. 

She was beautiful in the way she cared for everyone important to her, even if it meant sacrificing her own happiness. 

She was beautiful in the way she cried, because when she cried in my arms,
it meant she trusted me enough to see her like that. 

She was beautiful in the way she smelled, her scent was sweet, something I could only describe as the source of my peace. 

She was beautiful, in the way she loved wholeheartedly,
even if I never truly noticed it for my own foolishness. 

And she is beautiful as she tries to fight the illness that threatens to take her life, even if the only reason she decided to live, was for others.




©Words of a withering soul
U can't help loving your first no matter what..... Your first love always remains in our Herat irrespective of the time.. no matter how hard u try u just can't forget her... That is the power of true love
Stuck in the shell I can't shed
Help me, I'm locked in my head
No one can hear me scream, not even plead
Cutting my arms, watching them bleed
I can't take much more, someone end this pain
Ready to take a bullet to the brain
It too much to bare, just let it end
I beg and cry, but the message doesn't send
Louder and louder, but no one can hear me scream
Too much pain, too much, please is this just a dream
No one can help me now, I'm all alone
They can't hear my painful tone
Someone please, hear my cries
I yell and yell, but no one tries
I guess no one cares, no one is listening
My tears roll down glistening
I'll shut up and put on a smile
I'll walk a broken glass mile
Just know the smile I wear is to hide
I am eternally broken inside





©Words of a withering soul
No one can completely understand anyone's pain
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