Like the generations before
and those loved
and those remembered
I'm joining the club.

I'm not calling to ancestors
I'm joining them
I'm becoming an empty ghost
in an empty tomb
which all of her light
has left.

And I can stare right into that black
it's there anywhere I look around
and just like the song, I'm thinking maybe
six feet ain't so far down.

The world crumbles
as my feet lose footing
as my eyes stare, crying
as my heart stops, dissolving
as my soul becomes emptiness
as my hardest attempts to
hold on
are met with
nothing.

I'm building a room
for a little princess girl
White curtains with fringes in pink
Bedding all in pink, save white ruffles
on the edge of the blanket, and pillows.
A dresser with vanity,
soft wood, painted pink,
with darker pink (almost indigo?)
handles.
The walls, pink.
The door, pink.
Everything pink.

But the piece de resistance?
The white framed windows,
filled with the most beautiful
crystalline
pink
glass.

Because of this, every bit of light
entering the room
swirls in a kaleidoscope of sunlight
shaded pink.

And in the bed
my baby girl
pink P.J.s
asleep
safe
content.

Suffocate the children
leave all outs behind.
Run your fingers through
my ****** hair
lips to lips
to who knows where?

Children outgrow you,
it's inevitable.
But isn't all you ever wanted,
was for them to be better than you?

Now they are.
Now they've flown.
Out living in their
own new homes.

Follow instructions,
you know then well...

...obsolete
   ...outdated,
...erase
   ...destroy.

A tongue across top teeth
brittle spaces they hold
inside the guts of an urn
spray painted indigo,
and that
is your color.

You always say you write
Water,
while I write
Fire.

I write flame
and I burn brighter than most,
my love.

And you are the water
that somehow held me
alit
until the moment you
no longer could.

(my neglect, my taking for granted,
my mental illness [Bipolar etched ****** features], death and loss)

And now,  I've slipped
and been doused.
I no longer write flame
I write the snuffed out
I write the ones who lose
I write the loss of
purity
innocence
childishness
love
My little girl...
... gone.

And so it seems I've been drenched
in November Rain.
It's true, you know:
The pain of loss remains.

Dissolution
Unavoidable
Pick up the pieces.
Do they even exist?

I ease up cautiously to the door
gently place my eye to the keyhole
see her wide-eyed innocence
looking back,  afraid.

"It's gonna be allright,"
I sing gently
her favorite lullaby.

Slide a poem
on a piece of paper
under the door.

Show her the treasures
our life together holds...
held...
will hold.

Meet her eye in peace
a gentle coaxing
at her pace.