Praying undue forgiveness, I am numbed to fetal
in experience, birthed by prosaic desperation
to fathom life, or death, in this pill: Prozac
succubus, an offering of soothing bliss
too distant, quivering, to reach,
motherless fawn, stumbling
to my knees repenting
regrets repeatedly,
muttering God,
unheard,
alone.

Son, I remember smiling faces who
gathered around the television’s glow. "Are
you comfortable?" I asked each one.
"Yes, Mamaw," they sang out to
me like precious songbirds, my family.

Son, I remember faces who
gathered around the television. "Are
you comfortable?" I asked each.
"Yes, Mamaw," they sang to
me like songbirds, my family.

Son, I remember who
gathered around television. "Are
you comfortable?" I asked.
"Yes, Mamaw," sang to
me like, my family.

Son, remember who
gathered around. "Are
you?" I asked.
"Yes, Mamaw," to
me, my family.

Son, who
gathered. "Are
you?" Asked.
"Yes," to
me, family.

Who
"Are
you"
to
me.

Soothing inhalation of love's pink air
stokes red the furnace of my drumkit heart
beating. Beating concordant thoughts that snare
rhythmic hums that crescendo to kick start
the exalted exhalation of love.
Passing melody escapes parted lips,
a caged-bird free, singing of hope above
insecurity's storm: writhing tempest
that returns solemn to mindful eddies,
where tired souls find compassionate solace
in that rest between breaths, for once at ease
with realities of life's great promise.
Love's warm caress thaws shadowed doubts of mine;
with broken earthly bonds, praise my Divine!

"Hide in here."

I shut the shelter,
securing my sister

within the hanging
fabric shells,

shrouding her
in my protection.

The first bomb erupts,
shattering peace into pieces

of cheap glass,
coating the floor

like ice on a bridge. Danger,
bridge freezes before road.

Mom begins to wail,
but the siren signals too late

to escape the collision:
His words—Her heart.

And I will never fear
Sticks and Stones.

Instead, I will fear
Words. Disgustful

syllables strung together
to guillotine my mind.

I wish it had been me
sealed inside the shelter.

"Dad is home."

Rain-slicked
Asphalt repulses
    Black tread rubber
        Pushing me off-course
             No longer heading home
                   Instead bearing to confront
                          Mother Nature’s fenced border
                                 Chain-linked crooked limbs weaving
                                        Disaster and death into my tapestried
                                             Life and her children taunting chanting
                                                 Red Rover Red Rover let the human come
                                                                ­                    Over yet I fail to break
                                                                                 their linked arms
                                                                ­           Instead my glass shield is
                                                                      sharply pierced  
                                                       ­         One arm through reaching for
                                                            my throat
                                                      Grasping Suffocating Closing Ending
                                                Before fright wide eyes
                           Witnessing
              Crash

Fear standing atop crumbled clifftop.
A fleeting breeze whispers to me "what’s next?"
My Earth corrodes, this tearwater runoff

lifting fertile soil. Memories cropped;
despaired debris remains in frame. Perplexed
fear standing atop crumbled clifftop.

Two arms spread wide, frantic, balance I sought.
"Resist," whispers the breeze, "and breathe, reflect:
my Earth corrodes, this tearwater runoff

you precipitated; my ruin you wrought."
My toes begin to peek: the sea. Obsessed
fear. Standing atop crumbled clifftop

we teeter with unease that love means naught
when trust already sunk below the crest.
My Earth corrodes. This tearwater runoff

shall carve away our ache, and so we fought
against the chance that our love could contest
fear. Standing atop crumbled clifftop,
my Earth corrodes this tearwater runoff.