I Accept The Call

Collect call from Salt Lake County jail
If you accept,
Press 7.
Seven is a lucky number.
Not feeling lucky today
He is in jail again
For violation
Of Mental Health Court.
I accept the call.

Jail for mothers of sons
In jail, I imagine being like
Steel wombs, without the mother.

There are no pillows
No pleasant toiletries
No longer do I worry about
How long the refrigerator door
Has been open while he looks for
"Something to eat" in his bag of commissary.

There is no mama's kitchen.
No sofa to pine on.
Your laments only echoing
off cement.
What is your excuse this time
For violating the rules
At your new mothers home
You must know by now
There are no soft goodnight words
Just the stained metal
Slamming closed

May you keep your sanity
While doing your time
And remember the words
Radical acceptance
Practice balancing your
Emotional, rational
and wise mind
Maintain focus and resolve
To never, never, never give up.
I'll take that call now
I accept.

"The Song of Not Self"

Habits, are not the self
Customs, laws, nationalities
       are not the self
Conventions, language, vision, taste
       are not the self
The rolling Georgian hills, the Himalayas
The western Rockies, the eastern Smokeys
The northern forested Canadian home of the white bear
The White Cliffed Isle, the frozen Red Gulag
The cities clogged with motion, the empty vast stretches
       the round, wet, green, globe circumferenced, the stars
       are not the self
The perishables
       are not the self

I dealt death today.

I know it’s a part of the job.
I know I’ve seen it too many times to count.
But today,
I felt it.

I left the room long after their family did.
There was no where I could go
To escape their

Roaring grief.

They were long gone.
And I was left with their precious baby.
I curled his arms and legs up
Closed his eyes
Wrapped him up gently.
With love and respect
Here he’ll sleep forever.

And oh,
They are so thankful,
That it was me
That I understood
That I was so careful
That I spent the time with them.

And you’re not supposed to take it with you.
You’re supposed to leave it
When they walk out the door
With one less goodbye.

But I took it with me today.

The way they felt before
The way they felt after
The long quiet goodbyes
The man in a suit on his knees weeping
The mother and son making a cocoon
Sheltering their dying baby.
The solemn face of the woman who plays god.
The green death.
The last breath.
The heaving of the living as he gave his last.
The waiting.
Slower rhythm.
Quieter.
‘He’s gone now’.

I watched the clock
The same way I had
An hour before
Waiting for death.

Soon as I could
I fled out the door
Ran into the street
Tried to outrun it

Instead I ran to you
I dialled your number
With shaking hands

I know I’m not supposed to
But all I wanted was you
Your voice

Ringing out
Thankfully
I wept alone.

Today I dealt death
And I found I am not strong enough
To sustain this
Alone
Or for long.

I found I still consider you my haven
Deep down
But that you are not my haven anymore
Or should be.

I listened to the silence
After the call rang out
And decided