And what if I told you,

words heavy in my throat

thoughts non-stop speeding

through the racetrack in my mind 
heart hanging out to dry

at the end of my sleeve,

that to lose you 

would cause the

75% of water in my body
to drown me

And I think about my grandmother,
her weathered hands with deliberate strokes.
Maroon and purple flowers,
dead grasses crunch under the hairs of the brush,
decaying branches grasp toward the vast blue.

A rustic fence separates the decaying foreground
from the wet mountains one day I will reach

The background in my close distance
but her shaking hands glide over
easily navigating the rocky terrain
with ashen color, to touch
the tops of the mountains that tease the sky

She will paint her way to the clouds
alone her brush will travel
creating every stroke along the way.

Her shoes untouched unmoved
lay carelessly
in the middle of her room
the strings still tied
forever waiting to be
undone and redone
tightly around dainty feet.
a wet shiny black nose
rest atop the left shoe.
peering through the
wide door crack
he raises his golden head
paint splattered with gray
making eye contact
with a sorrowful wine,
questioning.
a moment.
the somber shake of the head
a whimper as he settles his snout
back on the left shoe
waiting…

i am wearing my favorite christmas hairband
a snowman surrounded by red and blue bows sprinkled with snow
my father wears his favorite cubs hat,

i rest my head on my father’s Slanted shoulder
my eyes rest on my hand sitting lightly on his wrist
my father’s gaze is directed towards his gift.

maybe that’s it.

You’re snoring lightly, your jaw unhinged slightly, the little dipper of freckles on your shoulder peeking out from behind your sheets.  The constellation I used to connect the dots to before you woke up.  You’d throw the pen at my face, trying to keep your frown firm, but you’d crack and jump on my back as I ran from you down the hall.  Merlin licking his paws, scrutinizing us from the doorway.  As your legs wrapped themselves comfortably around my waist, twisting to my front I’d kiss your neck and you’d make that sound like warm whiskey.
I wish I could be with you when you wake up tomorrow.  But your mother says its bad luck.
Just promise me you’ll still walk down the aisle if you wake up with my handy work on your shoulder.
                                                       ­                                                               I love you,
                                                            ­                                                                  David

I don't know
where she is
or where She is
as my grandmother
peers out the window
into the heavenly
landscape of her garden
two white butterflies dance
mirroring the light *****
of the others wings.
breathless
my grandmother’s eyes turn misty
hand on her heart
grasping my fingers into knots
her voice clipped
there they are,
and she clutches onto me
as the sisters whirl themselves
around the ashen and lilies

If I had seen it coming I wouldn’t have cried so
much I might’ve been more prepared
as if I could pack a survival kit
for months of recovery.

But instead there were no warning signs

nothing to give me a clue

for when you would crush me hard
between your fists,

ugly, and ******, broken on your floor.

I had seen it coming I could have forgiven you
as I grew smaller, held your hand,

said I love you more than you’ll ever know.
But it was sudden

overnight within seconds you left me, an old glove
fallen out of your warm coat pocket
into a puddle, too old and used up to save.